


Secrets shed under the Starlight

by TenebrarumDomini



Series: Stars [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: "Freshly caught cornish pixies!", Book 2, Enemies of the Heir beware, F/M, Gilderoy Lockhart's a dickhead, Harry crushes on Draco, Insane Harry Potter, It's a marauder reunion, Lucius and Narcissa are the best honorary parents, Luna's driving everyone 'round the bend, M/M, Memory Charm | Obliviate (Harry Potter), Nargles and radish earings, Parseltongue, Pettigrew is sloppy, Sirius Black actually gets a trial, The Chamber of Secrets has been opened, The Slytherin Quidditch team are too much, Wandless Magic, do over fic, siriusly, the basilisk is miserable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenebrarumDomini/pseuds/TenebrarumDomini
Summary: Second Year arrives in a whirlwind of meddling House-elves, insufferable portraits and less than legal dealings down Knockturn Alley. Harry's hearing the Basilisk in the walls and plotting cunning schemes left and right. A new defence teacher with an ego the size of Russia keeps popping up at all the wrong moments and rekindling with an old friend leaves Harry an emotional wreck, not to mention the inevitable confrontation with an enemy long forgotten. Add all that on top of confusing feelings for his best friend... well, Second Year at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry just became all the more stressful.A tale of conflicting emotions, abnormal power and a Dark Lord that doesn't know when to quit. In which even the greatest of wizards can be weak and the tiniest of girls can have the biggest personalities.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott & Pansy Parkinson & Harry Potter & Blaise Zabini, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Stars [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101416
Comments: 90
Kudos: 301





	1. The meddling of a house-elf

_**I. Hell is empty and all the devils are here** _

The decent into madness was gradual.

Sometimes it was fiery red, crimson the shade of fresh blood; sometimes it was blue, blue as vicious as a turbulent sea; sometimes it was white, the blinding light of everything that was warm. Madness took many colours, but it seemed to favour black. The evasiveness of the shadows, the feel of silk on smooth hands, the feeling of cold, cold numbness winding around your limbs until _you can’t escape_ and you’re _helpless_ to fight against it.

It took many forms, too.

It was in the eyes of the woman that cackled as others screamed, it was in the grin of the boy that laughed in the face of adversity, it was in the cruel sneer that twisted a man who sat on his throne with a snake around his neck and a yew wand in his hand.

Insanity. Madness.

It was thinking of odd things, of colours and shapes and it was relinquishing control and submitting to a curse. It was thinking too much or not thinking at all, never a balance, _never_ a balance.

Sometimes insanity was standing on the edge of a cliff, voices luring you to just _take a step_. Just take a step and everything would be all right. Insanity was peering down into the crude abyss that awaited and _just_ … giving up. It was letting yourself die and someone else, someone unrecognisable, take your place. The lucky few that stood on that cliff and refused, _defied_ , never forgot what they saw in that moment they were hanging over the brink. That image of a snarling beast with sharp teeth and a rumbling growl never left them.

Sometimes it wasn’t clear that you were going mad. Sometimes insanity was a slide that gave you friction burns on the way down but you didn’t know you’d fallen from the end until you were breathing in fresh air and the slide had reached the end of the line.

Insanity was thinking of life and death and wondering what the significance was. Life was painful and sad and it _hurt_ , but death was kind and _inviting_ and a promising end for suffering. Death was inevitable and so many stood on that ledge when it was not their time and let themselves fall. Insanity was saying _‘Okay’_ and realising that the word was perfect. It was broken and jagged but put back together again with careful hands. It was a façade that covered the storm of emotions inside with only a smile and an _, “I’m Okay._ ”

He was going insane and he didn’t even know.

It wasn’t noticeable at first.

His grin grew a little sharper, his eyes a little colder, his jokes a little darker.

It was small things that went unnoticeable in the business of the day and the stress of the week. He hadn’t become cruel or evil; he was the same as before but there was something… _more_ to him. His rage no longer spread fire in his veins or blood to his ears; his rage was cold and as icy as a blazing blizzard. And perhaps the ice burned more than the fire, because as much as being burnt alive hurt, it was nothing compared to way ice became so cold it was warm and numbing and falsely kind. You wouldn’t know you were dead until your eyes fluttered shut and your heart fell silent in your chest.

At that moment in time, he was sitting by the window, legs stretched in front of him and head against the wall. A frown creased his forehead, a leather journal, forgotten, in his hands. He mindlessly stroked the cover, looking out onto the street in front of him. People hurried past with heads down and hoods up, skittish eyes darting about as they walked faster.

London was dangerous at night, especially for such easy prey.

The cover of the night was the playground for all the… _unsavoury_ characters of the world. Under the mist of shadows and glow of the moon, tall men with sharp smiles and even sharper blades would pick their victims, bodies would vanish into the shadows and appear months later with unseeing eyes and still heartbeats. Day was the time for laughter and smiles and friendship. Night was the time for screams and tears and _murder_. Blood splattered against grimy bricks, begs and pleas fell on deaf ears, only to stop when the knife came down and they knew no longer.

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place seemed to thrive under the darkness. Suddenly every creak on the floorboards seemed to echo like a thousand cries, every rustle seemed as loud as a wailing hurricane, every _tick tick tick_ of a clock like the countdown to the inevitable. Yes, Grimmauld Place was a very creepy place to be. It didn’t help that he had only an insufferable portrait to keep him company.

His brilliant ( _insane_ ) plan to confund the Dursleys and flee to Grimmauld had been a rather rash decision. He’d forgot that the house was basically a living health hazard, what with all the dust bunnies, dark artifacts and nasty house-elves that couldn’t seem to do their job properly. He had spent the first week of his summer eating dinner at McDonalds (he could see why precious Diddykins liked it; he’d never eaten anything so greasy in his entire life) and spending all day and most the night trying to make the house inhabitable again. (It helped that the Black wards obstructed the Ministry’s Trace. Cleaning up a house was much easier with a few handy household charms and a sweep of a wand.)

Kreacher was just as sallow and miserable as he remembered. It took stores of patience to tell the old elf that _no_ , he wasn’t a mudblood _or_ a blood traiter and _yes_ , he would bring glory back to the ‘Ancient and Most Noble House of Black’. Just to please it – _him?_ – further, he told the elf he could destroy Regulus’ locket. An hour later and a quick utilization of Fiendfyre secured him the fanatic devotion of the ancient house-elf and also the destruction of a horcrux. A week after and Grimmauld Place finally looked like a decent place to live.

So Harry Potter dumped his relatives and ran away to the Black family townhouse. It sounded like a brilliant end to a brilliant story. It would have been if it weren’t for Arcturus.

Harry had taken the bedroom next to the library and with a bunch of charms, changed the colour to a neutral sort of green and silver. He’d checked out the library, briefly, and decided to settle down by the fireplace and spend an afternoon for himself. He’d glanced at the portrait dismissively and as he was about to settle down, the portrait spoke.

“What is a _Potter_ doing in _my_ house? I’d recognise that _filthy_ mop you call hair anywhere.”

Harry had nearly fallen out of his chair before his head whipped up to stare at the fucking _bastard_ of a portrait.

The man in the portrait sniffed, looked down at Harry and them turned away snottily like he – _a bloody portrait!_ – was more impressive than a living body of flesh and blood. Harry had just gawped at the man before snapping his jaw shut with a loud click and just resuming to ignore the thing whilst he read.

That plan went down the drain the minute he – apparently – signed up for a commentary of everything wrong with his physical appearance.

“How short are you? My house-elf is taller than you.”

“Why are you so skinny, boy? I’ve seen skeletons fatter than you.”

“What happened with your hair? Collided with any Static Spells lately?”

On and on it went under Harry slammed his book shut and took a deep breath. _It was only a portrait,_ he had to remind himself. _Only a portrait_...

“Are those what you call clothes boy? My house-elf-“

“ _Enough about your_ fucking _house-elf_!”

Arcturus goggled; manners lost. Harry got the distinct impression that he didn’t get shouted at very often.

“I don’t care about how short I am, or how messy my hair is! All I care about is getting you to _shut up_ and to read, alright! So fuck off!”

He’d stalked out the room, steam whistling out of his ears and eyes narrowed into a glare. He’d prefer a summer with the Dursleys compared to the infuriating comments of a snide portrait for the rest of the break. He had planned to spend his free time reading up on wizarding traditions and learning forgotten magics because, well, where better place to find that information than the Black family library. Dobby seemed to have decided to withhold his mail, so he had no contact with his friends until July thirty-first when Dobby decided to reveal himself and warn him about the pending doom at Hogwarts.

So there Harry was now, sitting on the windowsill overlooking the street outside, participating in one of his favourite hobbies – _people watching_ – and awaiting Dobby’s arrival. 

He had a heavy cloak wrapped around his shoulders and strong warming charm on his person, but with a clock floating in the air in front of him and the seconds counting down to midnight.

After Arcturus’ remarks on his clothes, he had begrudgingly taken a trip to Twilfitt and Tattings to fit himself a new wardrobe. He’d bought a few wizarding robes last year but after all the nourishment from Hogwarts, he’d grown out of them. Under the portrait’s – he earned a sort of reluctant respect from Arcturus after their shouting in the library and after that, the man had become almost helpful – carefully precise instructions, he’d bought robes in fine silk, boots of the best dragonhide and shirts of the crispest materials. The unsatisfiable man had approved as he peered down from his velvet chair and rich tea.

His hair still proved to be as untameable as ever and his eyesight as poor as the day he was born, but, dare he say, he looked almost _… good_ in his new clothes.

The golden sand of the tempus in front of him fell the last grain and Harry leaned against the cool glass as he murmured, “Happy Birthday to me.”

Kreacher popped into existence beside him and croaked, “Happy Birthday, Master.”

Harry looked at the ancient elf and nodded in reply, smiling despite himself. The elf had grown on him a bit, “Cheers, Kreacher.”

Kreacher bowed lowly and cracked away again, probably to make him a birthday cake. He smiled against the window and wrapped the cloak tighter around himself, waiting for the tell-tale pop of house-elf apparation.

Harry made his way down the stairs quietly, trying to ignore the buzzing in his ears and the thrum in his blood. Silence always did put him on edge. 

He crossed the halway-

 _"Filthy half-breed! Ruining the house of my ancestors! Digusting_ -" 

"Shut up, you miserable hag," Harry muttered, flicking his hand and silencing Walburga Black. The woman was still a raging harpy. 

Sighing, Harry slipped back up the stairs and into his little den by the window.

Grimmauld Place vaguely reminded Harry of someone. Sometimes, if he concentrated hard enough, he could hazily remember something about a large black dog and a man with grey eyes just a little but lighter than Draco’s, but it was odd. Like someone had simply removed them from his memories. He frowned at the window. Something within him, something with a Gryffindor tie and warm emerald eyes, felt an odd sense of yearning mixed with grief. Honestly, it was only a house. He didn’t get the attachment to it. It was a brilliant house too. The whole building was saturated in dark magic. His own magic purred like a satisfied cat the minute he stepped into the threshold. It was odd, but the vast collection of sheer knowledge in the library was worth it.

Forgotten practices, magic that was so, so wonderful it made him realise how little he knew. Charms paled in comparison to elemental magics, to people that could control the weather so intimately, lightning crackled the sky when they were angry. Raising the dead, illusions, runes, compulsions – he didn’t know where to begin.

Arcturus – the portrait – was a right bastard, but his knowledge was unparalleled. Already he had learned about the Wizengamot, Black family politics, the old Hogwarts curriculum and even a crash course on the French language (helped along by a translation charm).

Six weeks without letters from his friends was absolute hell, but then again, it could be worse. He could be at the Dursleys, waiting for a dodgy house-elf to deliver his mail and ruin a perfectly good pudding whilst he was at it. He missed Theo’s witty banter and Blaise’s constant bets against everyone and everything, Pansy’s sarcastic humour and incessant ‘ _Darling_ ’. But most of all, he missed Draco. Draco and his exasperated sighs, Draco and his gelled back hair, Draco and his obnoxious swagger, Draco and his fond smiles, just Draco.

His breath misted against the window. His finger drew an absent swirl before letting the gold dust of the _Tempus_ settle around him like snow. Dobby should be coming in about-

_Crack._

“Harry Potter!” Dobby squeaked with wide, glassy eyes, “So long Dobby has wanted to meet sir, such an honour… such an honour it is!”

Harry turned from the window to look at the house-elf, pushing aside the brief streak of grief that cut through him like a blade. Dobby still wore the ragged pillowcase covered in grime, his ears still drooped and flopped like a despondent dog, but nevertheless, he was there and he was undoubtedly alive.

“Hello, Dobby,” Harry said, with a small smile. He really did like the elf. “Why are you here?”

Dobby wrung his wrinkly hands, an anxious look on his face, “Dobby has come to tell you, sir… it is difficult, sir… Dobby wonders where to begin…”

Harry flicked his fingers and watched as a ball of light hovered in the air and lit up the room around them. He couldn’t do much wandless magic before maturity, but he did learn a few handy spells from Arcturus. Lumos was his favourite because it could change colours flexibly.

Dobby watched with unnaturally wide eyes before he let out a small squeak. Harry smiled kindly and summoned a chair from the other side of the room. “Sit down, Dobby.”

He burst into tears. Harry withheld a sigh.

“ _S-sit down_!” he wailed. “ _Never… never ever…_ ”

“It’s alright, Dobby. Sorry for offending you.” Harry winced as he realised just a second too late what he’d said. When the elf was free, he could say anything he liked and Dobby would just beam at him and comply. It scratched at a wound buried within him to see one of his friends – for the little elf was indefinitely a friend – like that.

“Offend Dobby!” choked the elf. “Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a wizard — like an _equal_ —”

Harry smiled awkwardly. On second thoughts, he’d rather be at the Dursleys cooped up in his room with one of Vernon’s work dinners going on downstairs than be with a crying elf with nowhere else to look than Dobby’s creepily wide eyes.

“What about your-“Harry snapped his mouth shut. _Don’t talk about families._

Unfortunately, Dobby seemed to get the idea. His ears drooped and he fiddled with his dirty clothes. (If they could even be called that.) “Dobby is bound to serve his wizard family, Harry Potter and they is not liking it when Dobby be’s making mistakes.”

“They don’t know you’re here, then?” Harry asked gently. Of course, they didn’t know. He doubted the Malfoys would send their house-elf to warn him. Well, Draco might, but Lucius was Dobby’s primary master.

“No, sir,” Dobby said miserably.

Harry sighed – he seemed to be doing that a lot lately – “Can I have my mail back, Dobby?”

Wide eyes snapped to his, fear and horror the prominent emotions. Dobby glanced around, probably for something to hit himself with.

“Don’t worry – I’m not angry. Just give me my letters-“

“Harry Potter _must not go back to Hogwarts_!” Dobby burst out, voice climbing in pitch. “Dobby must protect Harry Potter from _history repeating itself_!”

Silence followed his words before Dobby lunged for a table teg, bashing his head and squealing, “Bad Dobby! Bad, _bad_ Dobby!”

Harry pulled him back with a grimace, trapping the elf against him. Thank god Kreacher didn’t punish himself anymore. “Dobby! Dobby, stop! _Stop_!”

Dobby went still, tremors wracking his small frame, “Harry Potter mustn’t go back to Hogwarts! Harry Potter _mustn’t_! Terrible things are happening at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! Tell Dobby that Harry Potter isn’t going back!”

“Dobby-!”

But too late; Dobby wriggled out of Harry’s grasp and with a click of the elf’s fingers, the wards preventing underage magic from being detected by the Ministry fell with a harsh shatter that only Harry could hear as the wards were keyed to him. With another click, everything in the room began floating before, with another horribly determined look, Dobby was gone and Harry was standing in the middle of the room, his small ball of light steadily turning red with his rage as he stared murderously where Dobby once was.

The elf, that _fucking_ elf, had just ruined all his plans in one move. He couldn’t apparate now because the Ministry could detect illegal apparation. He couldn’t learn new spells because underage magic resulted in a warning and then immediate expulsion. With one click of his fingers, Dobby had just shattered centuries old family wards.

Just when he thought he couldn’t get any angrier, an owl swooped through the open window, dropping the letter and flying away again not a second later. The letter rose gently in the air before a mouth formed from the seal and a clear, crisp voice sounded in his ears.

_“Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We have received intelligence that a Levitating Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine. As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school. (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C). We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statute of Secrecy._

_Enjoy your holidays!_

_Yours sincerely, Mafalda Hopkirk_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic.”_

Harry was going to strangle Dobby and use his corpse as kindling.

He tore the letter apart and ran an angry hand through his hair, exhaling roughly as he forced himself to calm down. Alright, so his first priority had to be to get the ward back up. The Ministry only picked up on magic made with a wand – as a wand had the Trace – so he could make do with the wandless magic he was able to pull off. Nodding firmly to himself and shutting all thoughts of wrangling Dobby from his mind, he strode down the hall to the library and abruptly poked Arcturus awake, light flaring from his fingertips as it illuminated the library.

The portrait grumbled awake, eyeing him nastily. No matter how many times they spoke, they would always insult each other.

“What are you doing up at this hour, boy? You look like a flobberworm.”

Harry gave him a distasteful look. “Fuck off, old man. I need your help.”

Arcturus sniffed, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. “You must think I’m incompetent to even think _I’d_ help _you_ with anything. In _my_ days, no one would _dare_ -“

“Shut up, you miserable wretch,” Harry snapped, “I need you help because some meddling old house-elf took down the underage magic wards. Now, I need your help to tell me where to get a decent wand that doesn’t have the trace so I can put it back up again, all right?”

Arcturus wrinkled his pointy nose before saying a reluctant, “There’s a shop in Knockturn Alley that sells illegal wands to little runts like you. Tell her that Uncle Arc says hello and she might sell to you.”

Harry nodded sharply, turning on his heel, wandlessly summoning his cloak and hurriedly unbuttoning his pyjama top while he was at it. He could hardly go to the shadiest alley in Britain in his pyjamas. Sure, he could do a few bits of magic without his wand, but he’d never be able to duel solely without a conductor. The magic he channelled through his wand was tamed and controlled; the magic he used without his wand was raw and needed an iron will to harness. Much like Fiendfyre.

“What- are you going now, boy?!” Arcturus shouted after him.

“Yeah, course I am,” he muttered in reply, shrugging on one of his new silky black shirts. The acromantula silk really was brilliant.

It was still dark out, but more of a dusty dark grey as opposed to the thick blanket of black that had sheltered the sky. A thin streak of vicious red was already starting to appear on the horizon as he finished buttoning up a pair of ripped jeans he’d bought from muggle London. He loved wizards, but no way was he wearing those tight slacks that Draco seemed so fond of all the time.

Scowling and cursing Dobby with every name he could think of, Harry stalked towards the fireplace and grabbed the floo powder. He really did wonder how he ended up getting ready to go for an early shopping trip at four o’clock in the morning on his birthday to fix Dobby’s mishap. He hadn’t even _slept_ in a day. He vaguely remembered Draco saying something about his birthday and Diagon when he’d last seen him on the train, but he _was_ rather out of it then. His plans for a nice day with a mug of coffee and a good book shattered the moment the elf appeared in his study and ripped down his wards and _forgot to give him his mail back_. Not to _mention_ the waning for underage magic he’d got.

If he weren’t so certain that Halloween was his cursed day, he’d have thought it was his birthday.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t end up in some poor bloke’s kitchen.

Harry stepped into the green flames and said as clearly as he could, “ _Knockturn Alley_.”


	2. The trip down Knockturn Alley

_**II. My best feeling is that I'm a little piece of you** _

“ _Knockturn Alley_.”

The floo spat him out with a hiss of flames before the emerald embers died down and Harry stumbled upright. He glared at the fireplace, rubbing his arm. He swore wizarding travel hated him.

Seeing as he didn’t give a specific address, the floo chucked him out at what seemed to be Knockturn’s version of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry sighed before running a hand through his wayward hair and trying to at least cover his scar. He couldn’t do wandless glamours yet, but even if he could, it probably wouldn’t disguise the scar. It had faded to a dull silver after the events of the previous year, but it still stretched over half his face. It started just above his eyebrow to the tip of his nose, so big it was practically a neon sign for journalists. Harry liked it this time round. Last time he thought it made him look like a younger – _handsomer_ – version of Mad-Eye Moody, but this time it made him look fierce.

He could practically hear Sirius laughing, “You little heart-breaker!”

Harry frowned briefly. _Who was Sirius?_

The barkeeper looked over at him and grunted with a suspicious glare, effectively shaking Harry out of his odd thoughts of some guy called ‘Sirius’. It sounded like a Black name.

Probably in Azkaban then.

Now that Harry looked around, he could see all sorts of characters that couldn’t be found in the Leaky Cauldron. One man with three slash marks on his face and silvery scars on his muscular arms reminded him of Lupin. A werewolf. A woman in the corner with hair that looked like seaweed looked like the mirror image of a hag in one of their defence textbooks. A trio of tall men with predatory smirks and dark eyes looked like better looking versions of Snape. Vampires. Harry would eat his wand if that weren’t a gnome sitting by the bar. Not only dark creatures were about though. A cluster of witches were whispering darkly in a shadowy corner, heads bent together and all wearing matching rings. A coven then.

Knockturn Alley was rather fascinating, but he wasn’t there – _at four o’clock in the bloody morning!_ – to stare at people. He had an agenda… and perhaps if there was time, he’d have a bit of a look in a few shops that had caught his interest.

He strode from the bar with a polite nod to the barkeeper, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head as he left the noise of the bar and stepped into the silence of the Alley. He’d only been to Knockturn once and that was when he got lost in the floo, but he still remembered the oily feeling of dark magic in the air. Curiously, that slippery feeling was absent, leaving only the bitter taste of dark chocolate on his tongue. A riddle for another day.

Making a face as he danced out of the way of another hand emerging from the shadows, Harry continued along the cobbled street, peering inquisitively at various trinkets on display before leaning away from leering grins, he didn’t stop until he was in front of a small little shop that looked to have been shoved to the side to make way for grander buildings. Not that anything in Knockturn could be described as ‘grand’. Harry would cut of his own left hand if he came across a shop that didn’t have mould growing on the walls or cobwebs over the shelves.

The small shop that had a tiny sign labelled ‘ _Wenda’s Wands’_ was probably the cleanest thing Harry had seen since he stepped out of the floo.

A bell chimed softly as he stepped through.

There was nothing remarkable about it, nothing at all. It was simply a shop filled with shelves filled with wands, but the magic made him second guess that the wand shop was more than it appeared. A girl was sitting behind the counter, feet on the table and a copy of _The Quibbler_ in her hands. Her hair, a violent purple, spiked in all directions as she popped a drooble and breathed out a load of multicoloured bubbles. She looked up as Harry approached, raising an eyebrow before dropping her feet to the floor with a clunk and putting aside the magazine.

“Come for a second wand?” she drawled lazily.

Harry nodded, glancing around as the hairs on the back of his neck prickled like someone was watching him.

“Mmhm, well, what’s your first wand made of?”

“Cherry, Thestral Tail Hair, thirteen inches.”

“Interesting. Ollivanders?” she didn’t wait for an answer, “Alright then. Follow me.”

She stood up and pushed a door open, a glowing ball of light erupting from her wand and suspending in mid-air, casting a tinted light upon a large room that had jars on every surface. He followed behind her, taking in the room that looked like it belonged in Snape’s ideal torture chamber – well, if he had one. Harry wouldn’t put it past him.

She sat on the seat that stood in front of a bubbling cauldron, watching him.

“Stick your hand over these-“ she gestured to a shelf that had a line of square blocks of wood, “-and give it to me when you find the right one.”

_How was he meant to find the right one?_

Sighing, and feeling like a right idiot, he stuck his hand over the far-left block of wood and winced when he felt pin pricks shoot up his arm. Right then. He continued down the line, screwing up his face as cold ice numbed his fingers and scorching flames burned his arm. Just when he thought he’d never find the right wood; his hand came to a stop at the black block dead in the middle. It shot elated sparks through his fingers and up his arms until it came to rest at his neck like a purring cat. He picked it up, lips curling into a smile as warmth wrapped around his skin.

The girl though, she seemed to have been frozen. Her eyes stared impossibly at the wood in his hand like she’d never seen anything quite so incredulous. He dropped it on the table and she flinched slightly, wide eyes still locked on the wood. Oh well.

He moved towards the opposite shelf, feeling strange sensations running across his skin. Feathers of different colours were stored delicately in big glass jars, odd strips of something with shimmering scales laying on the wood. Only one thing, however, felt right.

A crystal vial filled with something shimmering green shot into his hand, hissing like a snake but with no audible words. Harry got the feeling it should burn, but it only warmed his palm slightly. He thumbed the vial almost affectionately before he put it down beside the lump of wood.

The girl was still staring, her face pale against her vibrant hair.

Harry cleared his throat. She startled. “Oh- yeah, yeah, right. _Right_. Bloody _hell_ \- okay.”

She glanced at him once more before she stood up, staring at the vial and the wood like she had no idea what had just happened. “Okay- right. Put them both into the cauldron and let three drops of blood fall in.”

Harry looked at her sharply, “Why’d you need blood?”

“A binding agent. It means you, and you alone, can wield the wand. No one else can use it without your express permission.”

Harry nodded before digging a nail into one of his fingers and watching blood well on the surface. He let three drops fall into the cauldron, staring as the milky liquid turned a brilliant, blinding gold. With the girl’s nod, he let the wood submerge into the liquid, staring _again_ at how thin streaks of black disturbed the gold before uncorking the vial and pouring in the strange substance.

The effect was immediate.

The gold-black mixture turned a poisonous green, the liquid settling before it seemed to shriek and hiss. The streaks of black and gold seemed to become even more pronounced before it seemed to shrink before his very eyes. The liquid retracted until there, at the bottom of the cauldron, a jet-black wand sat.

The girl was staring at it with a holy sort of reverence. “Go on,” she whispered, “Pick it up.”

And pick it up he did.

A snake burst from his wand in a ferocious bubble of hisses, slitted golden eyes narrowing on Harry before it coiled around his neck, forked tongue ghosting against his neck and hissing its approval. The silvery snake – almost like a Patronus, except it looked more like a ghost – disappeared in a shower of sparks as the wand warmed in his grip.

The girl, gawping at the wand, whispered, “Ebony, Basilisk venom, Twelve and a half inches. The only wand ever made with a liquid core. Perhaps the most powerful wand in existence, suited for the Dark Arts, Transfiguration and Ancient Runes.”

Harry nodded, looking at the black wand and feeling a giddy sort of laugh bubble in his throat.

“Thank you.”

“No,” she whispered, “Thank you. Come again any time.”

Harry nodded, tucking the wand into the holster on his forearm. His cherry wand was at Grimmauld Place as it wouldn’t do any good, even if he did have it on him. The Trace would flare up if he as much as cast a simple lumos. He really hated the Ministry.

Just as he was about to leave the shop, the girl called out behind him, “What’s your name.”

Harry paused.

And an idea was born.

“Hadrian. Hadrian Peverell.”

The bell tinkled behind him as he stepped away from the shop and onto the cobbled street.

**\---**

After he had gotten his wand, the sky had lightened significantly. The world stirred around him as bleary-eyed shopkeepers opened up for the day and shoppers stirred from the shadows. With the sun completely risen, Knockturn Alley seemed to be just a creepier version of Diagon.

Harry had taken a trip into _Moribund’s Supplies_ and bought a curious looking quill that seemed to leech the light from the room and a journal that had cost a fortune but had an infinite number of pages. He’d accidentally stumbled across a shop that sold books and trinkets on obscure branches of magic and came away with a bag charmed for expansion filled with a load of tomes. Some of them so illegal, he’d probably get chucked in Azkaban for even looking at them.

He didn’t know when exactly he realised that dark magic was just magic like the rest of it, but he had. Suddenly he wasn’t squeamish around the shrunken heads or polished skulls. All of it was magic and the Ministry was stupid to ban it.

_There is no good and evil. Only power, and those too weak to seek it._

The irony bought a sinister sort of smile to his lips, making an advancing hag shrink away.

He pushed open the door to Borgin and Burkes – the place still made him feel like he was rolling in slime – only to freeze just over the threshold.

_Ah shit._

“Harry!”

Harry forced his lips into a smile, “Hello, Draco.”

Of course the Malfoys would be there. It was his birthday and the exact time and place they’d been at the shop before. As much as he had missed Draco, he really did not want to be seeing him in the oily little shop that sold oily little objects by an oily little man. But still, it did relive some of the pressure from his shoulders to see his best friend again. Draco had grown half an inch over the summer. Still not as tall as him, but taller none the less. His hair was still gelled back and his eyes as grey as always. Something tightened around his lungs making it harder to breath. His heart was beating quickly under his ribcage and his fingers were twitching to grab hold of smooth pale skin. He frowned briefly. He must be getting ill.

Harry tore his eyes away from Draco and instead met the cool flint of Mr Malfoy.

_Fuck, fuck and double fuck._

“Ah, Mr Peverell! Back again.”

 _I fucking hate you, Borgin_.

“Again?” Mr Malfoy drawled smoothly, raising a single eyebrow.

“Yes, yes! Mr Peverell helped me just an hour ago with a tricky customer. Reminds me of a young man that worked here a few years ago…” Borgin trailed off, a crease in his brow before he smiled that slippery smile again. “Take a look around, Mr Peverell, whilst I serve Mr Malfoy here.”

Harry fixed him with a smooth smile and shifted the bag on his back, not daring to look at the Malfoys.

Perhaps his birthday really was cursed.

He sidled up next to Draco and positioned himself so he could keep one eye on the counter and the other on Draco.

“Peverell?” Draco asked, an amused smile on his lips.

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, “I couldn’t exactly waltz in and say my name was Harry Potter, could I?”

Draco hummed in response before he gasped, fixing him with an appalled look. “You didn’t write to me over the summer!”

Harry scowled, remembering Dobby that tore down his wards and forgot to give him back his mail. “Your house-elf stole my letters,” He said mulishly, “And ripped down the Black underage magic wards.”

“You were staying in a Black house?” Draco asked with wide eyes. “Really? What was it like? Did they have elf heads on the walls? How about the library. Are there really books on how to rip out someone’s spleen? Actually, what about-“

Harry laughed, “If your father says its alright, we can floo there later, yeah?”

Draco nodded quickly in agreement, his wide smile becoming something smaller but no less affectionate. “I missed you.” He said softly.

That odd feeling from earlier returned. He really _was_ ill. Probably coming down with something.

“I missed you too,” Harry said in that same tone and suddenly Draco was hugging him and he was hugging him back and everything was right in the world.

They broke apart a moment later, Draco catching sight of the Hand of Glory and rushing over to look at that. Harry smiled in amusement as he leant against the wall and pretended he wasn’t eavesdropping on Mr Malfoy and Borgin’s conversation.

“You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids,” said Mr. Malfoy, taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unravelling it for Borgin to read. “I have a few — ah — items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call…”

Borgin fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and looked down the list. “The Ministry wouldn’t presume to trouble you, sir, surely?”

Harry stifled a laugh.

Mr. Malfoy’s lip curled. “I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumours about a new Muggle Protection Act — no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it —”

Harry fiddled with a small medallion trying to bite his fingers.

“— and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear —”

“I understand, sir, of course,” said Borgin. “Let me see…”

“Can I have that?” interrupted Draco, pointing at the withered hand on its cushion.

“Ah, the Hand of Glory!” said Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy’s list and scurrying over to Draco. “Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir.”

“I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin,” said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Borgin backpedalled quickly, “No offense, sir, no offense meant —”

“Though if his grades don’t pick up,” said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still, “that may indeed be all he is fit for.”

“It’s not my fault,” retorted Draco, but Harry could see the tips of his ears going pink. He probably couldn’t tell his father he and Hermione were friends. Mr Malfoy would have a fit if he heard his son hung out with a _mudblood_. “The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger —”

“I would have thought you’d be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam,” snapped Mr. Malfoy.

“It’s the same all over,” said Borgin, in his oily voice, his greasy smirk appearing on his lips. “Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere —”

“Not with me,” said Mr. Malfoy, his long nostrils flaring.

“No, sir, nor with me, sir,” said Borgin, with a deep bow.

“In that case, perhaps we can return to my list,” said Mr. Malfoy shortly. “I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today —”

They started haggling over prices as Harry twirled the medallion around. He left it on the tabletop and slunk over to stand next to Draco who was staring in fascination at an opal necklace. With a jolt, Harry realised it was the one that cursed Katie Bell.

“Draco,” Mr Malfoy called sharply, his snake cane tapping against the wooden floor. “Mr Potter. Come.”

Harry glared at his back as he pulled out his new wand and obliviated a slack jawed Borgin of the last few seconds. He didn’t need the hags gossiping about the Boy-Who-Lived taking a trip into the Alley famous for its association to the Dark Arts. Nevertheless, he followed the two Malfoys out of the shop and into Diagon, scowling at the stone beneath his feet and trying not to look at Mr Malfoy’s amused smile.

They met up with Mrs Malfoy outside the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry tried not to think of the last time he saw her. Watching him as he walked to his death and not raising a single finger to help.

“Mr Potter,” she greeted with a small smile, “Draco’s told us a lot about you.”

“Mrs Malfoy,” Harry said neutrally, “It’s lovely to properly meet you.”

She cracked a wider smile, something in her face warming, “Call me Narcissa, dear. I’ve never met one of Draco’s friends as polite as you.”

“You can call me Harry then.”

They all warmed up after that, Mr Malfoys stiff spine loosening slightly and Draco smiling in relief. The older Malfoys had business in Gringotts so he and Draco were free to buy their own school supplies and meet up again in an hour outside Flourish and Blotts.

Draco needed more potions ingredients so Harry was dragged off to the Apothecary that somehow managed to smell even worse than the last time he stepped foot in the building. They bumped into Hermione at a second-hand book shop and chatted for a few minutes before she caught sight of a gaggle of Second Year Ravenclaws and rushed off after them. Harry was glad she’d made friends of her own. He pulled Draco along to look at the new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones, pretending he didn’t see the blond’s secretively smug smirk.

After exactly an hour, he and Draco entered Flourish and Blotts only for dread to settle in Harry’s gut. He risked a glance to his left and groaned.

_GILDEROY LOCKHART  
will be signing copies of his autobiography  
MAGICAL ME  
today from 12:30P.M.to 4:30P.M._

Draco’s nose wrinkled as he pulled out a letter from his pocket, cursing under his breath as he showed it to Harry.

_SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:_

_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk  
Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart  
Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart  
Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart  
43 Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart  
Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart  
Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart  
Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart_

They shared a look.

“He’s an utter ponce,” Draco muttered, scowling at a picture of Lockhart that winked back at him, “Father says-“

“What an idiot,” Mr Malfoy murmured as he placed a hand on both of their shoulders, appearing from nowhere, “ _Really_ , taking out a werewolf pack with a single Stunner…”

Harry supressed a grin.

A hush went over the assembled crowd as someone stepped forward. A certain someone with gleaming white teeth and obnoxious gold hair.

A short, stout man elbowed Harry out the way, camera in hand. Harry resisted the urge to jinx the man with boils in very uncomfortable places. “Out of the way, boy. This is for the Daily Prophet,” he snarled.

“Big fucking deal,” Harry muttered with a scowl.

Another hush fell over the crowd.

_Don’t look up – don’t look up – don’t look up-_

“It _can’t_ be Harry Potter?” the walking floss advert positively shouted.

Harry resolved to use every Gilderoy Lockhart book as kindling the next time he lit a fire.

The crowd burst out in excited whispers as Lockhart dived forward and pulled Harry up to the front. He shot Draco a betrayed look as he scowled murderously at the golden dickhead, wriggling out of Lockhart’s grip. The camera clicked madly as the idiot said out of the corner of his mouth, “Nice big smile, Harry. Together we make the front page.”

Harry still scowled as shrugged Lockhart off and tried not to imagine crucio-ing him until he resembled a particularly dumb vegetable.

Just as he’d successfully managed to escape, Lockhart dragged him back with a charming smile and an arm around his shoulder.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lockhart said loudly, waving for quiet. “What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time! When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography — which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge —” The crowd swooned again. “He had no idea,” Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose and his head flop like a limp doll, “that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!” The crowd cheered and clapped and he found himself being presented with a stack of books that all had the golden dickhead winking up at him with a charming smile.

Harry sulked over to the Malfoys, glaring at Draco who was turning a steady red from trying to hold in his sniggers. He slipped his books into his bag and muttered a peevish, “I’m using them as kindling later.”

Mr Malfoy smirked as Narcissa took his arm and they all turned away from the crowd. However, their exit was blocked by a gaggle of redheads fighting with-

“Theo!” Draco shouted.

Theo paused in his cheering and waved merrily at Draco before going back to his clapping. “Go on, grandad! Hit ‘im!”

Harry snickered as he realised that Theo’s grandfather, Tiberius Nott, was currently scuffling with Arthur Weasley. The animosity between Tiberius and Arthur was almost as legendary as Mr Malfoy’s with Mr Weasley.

Mr Malfoy muttered something about ‘ _fighting like a common pair of muggles’_ before he yanked Tiberius up by his collar and said in the sneering, condescending tone that the Malfoys were famous for- “Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley.”

“Lucius,” Mr Weasley said stiffly as he pulled himself up from the ground.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” said Mr. Malfoy. “All those raids… I hope they’re paying you overtime?” He reached into Ginny’s cauldron and extracted a very old, very battered copy of _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration._

Harry’s eyes sharpened.

_The diary._

“Obviously not,” Mr. Malfoy said. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

Mr. Weasley flushed as red as his hair, “We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” he spat.

“Clearly,” drawled Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to two adults who were watching with wide eyes – muggles. “The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower.”

And for the second time that day, Arthur Weasley launched himself at a pureblood.

There was a thud of metal as Ginny’s cauldron went flying and Mr. Weasley dived at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, “Go on, father!” from Draco, a hoot of glee from Tiberius as he hollered, “You show him, Lucy!” and a furious scoff from Narcissa as she levelled her wand at the two and a blast of light separated them.

Mr Weasley flushed in mortification as he realised the scene he’d called. He backed away to a fussy Mrs Weasley.

Mr Malfoy wiped blood off the top of his lip, eyes glittering darkly just like Draco’s did when he wanted revenge. He thrust Ginny’s books back to her and-

 _Got you_.

A wandless _Accio_ followed up by a disillusionment charm had the black diary of Tom Riddle’s soaring into Harry’s hands with no one else any the wiser. It was almost disappointing. He shoved the book into his bag before anyone noticed and let his lips flick into a tiny smirk.

“Here girl – take your book – if that’s the best your father can give you.” Mr Malfoy turned on his heel and skulked away.

Narcissa scowled at her husband before taking both Harry and Draco’s arms and tugging them along with her, “…fighting like ill-bred weasels… unbecoming of a Malfoy… sleeping on the couch for a week...”

They reached the Leaky Cauldron where Mr Malfoy was waiting, muttering under his breath and looking a second away from scuffing his shoes on the ground. He caught sight of Narcissa and summoned a bright smile, “Ah, Cissa darling! Did I tell you how much I love you-“

Narcissa glared at him. “Don’t you ‘darling’ me, Lucius. You’re going to become very familiar with the couch this week.”

Mr Malfoy looked a second away from pouting before he pulled himself together, “Yes, dear,” he said petulantly, resuming his cursing of Arthur Weasley.

Harry dithered by the door uncertainly. He needed to get back to Grimmauld to get his stuff but Draco hadn’t said anything.

Narcissa looked back with a frown, “Harry? Aren’t you coming?”

Harry tried not to smile as he took a pinch of floo powder.

“Malfoy Manor!”

**\---**

_The floo is definitely out to get me._

He’d been spat out - _again_ \- and only Draco being there to haul him upright kept him from tripping flat on his face. It was rather embarrassing.

Narcissa tried to hide her amused smile as she turned away, “Mipsy!” she called. With a pop, a small female house-elf was standing there, ears twitching and bowing so low her pointed nose skimmed the floor.

“Mistress Cissy called for Mipsy?”

“Yes, prepare lunch for Draco and our guest. They’ll eat it outside, I think.”

Draco nodded for the both of them, already dragging Harry up the stairs.

Harry stared at the smooth marble walls and variety of paintings. His memories of Malfoy Manor included an adrenaline fuelled escape from the dungeons and getting acquainted with the entrance hall floor. Now that light was pouring through the windows and the windows were thrown open, Harry realised that the Manor really was a beautiful place to grow up. Draco was babbling excitedly about Quidditch and games and everything.

Harry felt a smile on his face and the cherished feeling of freedom in his heart.

“- And I begged mother to let you have the room beside mine and I decorated it for you because I thought it could be your room for when you stay round-“

Because really, the summer holidays had really just began for Harry.


	3. The Sorting of Ginny Weasley

_**III. I would wait a lifetime to be with you** _

Staying at Malfoy Manor was not what Harry expected.

There were no ominous screams from the dungeons or evil practices of dark magic. In fact, Harry would say he was a bit disappointed.

The Malfoys were just like any other family.

Draco constantly dragged him out to the Quidditch pitch to either dare each other to go higher or have a long game of catch with the quaffle. They spent afternoons in the sun, lazily drifting on polished brooms; evenings in the library in front of the fire with hot chocolates made by the house-elves (Harry always said thank you, to Draco’s exasperation) and mornings trying to come up with the most brilliant ideas to wake each other up. (Harry’s favourite had to be the time he charmed Draco’s hair to grow down to his waist and changed him into a girl for the day. He woke up to a tickling feeling on his chest and between his legs and screamed until Lucius and Narcissa came running, Harry doubled over with laughter in the corner.)

Lucius - as he’d given Harry permission to call him - spent most of his time in his study, thumps and bumps escaping through the door at random intervals during the day. Narcissa only rolled her eyes fondly and ordered the house-elves to bring him another cup of tea.

Narcissa was exactly the mother Harry would have wanted his to be. She cared for Draco dearly but she still knew when to give him a push in another direction. She spent her days in the garden either patiently watching as Draco did another trick on his broom or in the study with Lucius. (Harry tried not to think about what might or might not be doing if everything thumped and bumped when they were in there together.)

Pansy came round one afternoon and bought along the latest copies of Witch Weekly to read whilst they all splashed around in the pool that Lucius made in the back garden. That odd feeling of the air squeezing from his lungs and his heart trying to beat right out of his chest returned when Draco tackled him into the water and he’d felt a body pressed up against his. Harry had checked with Narcissa to see if he were ill, but she only gave him a fond smile and gently pushed him away with a secretive glint in her eye.

Theo and Blaise came around the following day and they spent a day in the garden having a water fight and perhaps using _Aguamenti_ a bit too much. Harry had been forced to throw away one of his white t-shirts because it smelt like pond water. Draco had been moaning over his wet hair for days after that.

Good to his word, Harry took Draco to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and let him gush over the library as he collected his school trunk and retrieved his belongings that had somehow been scattered all over the place. He’d introduced him to Arcturus, who seemed to like him a lot more than he liked Harry, before giving him a tour of the boggart hanging around in the grandfather clock – he hadn’t been able to get rid of it before the wards came down – and the cellar, where all the sentient dark artifacts had been stashed. Draco had wandered around with wide eyes and an awed smile, staring at his name on the Black family tree for ages before he skipped off to the next room.

Life at Malfoy Manor was like being whisked into your favourite fairy tale, but like all stories, everything must end.

Tomorrow was the first of September and Harry was currently lounging on Draco’s bed as he rushed around in his bathroom checking he had all his hair products. His ebony wand was laying beside him and their Charms textbook for the year was flat on his stomach. The wand he’d bought in Knockturn worked much better for him than his Thestral Tail wand, and it was an added bonus that the Trace wasn’t on it. Every spell he cast was overpowered until he found a balance. _Lumos_ blinded, _Incendio_ created an inferno and _Accio_ made objects zoom towards him so fast, it looked like they literally appeared in his hands.

Draco slid into bed beside him, distinguishing his lumos and shoving Harry off the sheets – silk, obviously. “Go and get some sleep, you lazy lump,” he mumbled. Harry watched with a strange feeling in his stomach as his best friend’s eyes drooped and he slowly fell asleep. They’d spent the day playing one massive game of hide and seek around the manor and then Tag so Draco was probably exhausted.

Harry slid off the edge of the bed and padded softly to his room, smiling at the green and gold walls and the pulsing orbs of softly coloured lights floating around the room. He didn’t like sleeping in the dark. It reminded him of shadows in the cupboard and the hopeless feeling of despair as the light was shut out.

He paused by his trunk before hissing out the password and searching under all his textbooks. His hand made contact with a warm book that seemed to be made of the slipperiest of oil. He summoned an ink pot and his favourite quill before settling back onto his bed.

A small, eldritch smile curled at his lips as the lights cast haunting shadows over his face. In the light of the dark, his cheekbones and inky hair seemed even more sinister.

He opened the book, flicking his fingers and creating a ball of light to hover by his ear as he dipped his quill into the inkpot.

_Hello._

_‘Hello, my name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?’_

**\---**

Kings Cross station was as busy as ever.

People were boarding trains left, right and centre; the occasional screech of an owl sliced through the air as children hurried towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Strange people in odd clothes with sticks of wood peeking out from back pockets were there one minute and gone the next.

Four such strange people were standing in the middle of the station. A tall, blond man with pale skin and sharp features was looking at an odd watch every few seconds and trying to pretend he wasn’t cringing in disgust every time someone brushed past him. A woman with silky black hair with a blonde strand streaking through the left side had a worried look on her face as she fussed over her child. Said child looked like a carbon copy of the tall man apart from the remains of baby fat on his face that would fall away within the year. But perhaps the strangest of the four was the other boy. With a silvery scar shaped like a lightning bolt beginning from his eyebrow to his nose, the boy had messy black hair that looked more curly that spiky and sharp green eyes that looked almost acidic in the light. He was absently twirling a stick of ebony wood between his fingers as a snowy white owl perched on his shoulder.

Lucius frowned at his watch again and murmured in Narcissa’s ear, “We have to go darling. The goblins won’t wait forever.”

Narcissa gave Draco one last tender kiss to the forehead, and, to Harry’s surprise, he as well. “Have a good term boys and _don’t_ get in any trouble.” She fixed them both with one last stern look before taking her husband’s arm and disappearing with a soft crack.

Harry glanced around at the station, swearing under his breath as he caught sight of the clock. Only two minutes until the Hogwarts Express left for Hogsmeade. “C’mon Draco,” he said to the other boy, tugging him along as Hedwig screeched in his ear. He fixed her with a look, “Go to Hogwarts, girl. I’ll see you later.”

Hedwig spread her wings and took off out of the window, north west for Hogwarts.

Harry glanced at the clock. One minute.

Draco was silent beside Harry as he glanced around skittishly. Growing up hearing that muggles would roast him alive if they knew he could do magic would make anyone scared.

Thirty seconds.

A flash of glassy green eyes and a grimy pillowcase caught Harry’s eyes as he whirled around, staring intently at a small alcove in the bricks – big enough for a house-elf. He cursed under his breath, getting scandalized looks from a passing muggle. It didn’t matter though. Dobby had already rigged the barrier.

And he’d already sent Hedwig off.

 _Fuck, fuck and triple fuck_.

He skidded to a halt in front of the barrier as a dangerous plan began to form in his mind. A very dangerous plan. If it went wrong…

The clock struck eleven.

Harry turned to Draco, a glint of madness in his eye. He really did miss the adrenaline he got from doing all the risky stunts and the victory of emerging triumphant. “The barriers sealed itself,” Harry said, low enough for only Draco to hear.

He gaped for a moment; terrified grey eyes locked on his. “What-?!”

“But I have a plan,” Harry interrupted, feeling his magic beginning to gather in anticipation, “It’s dangerous and if it doesn’t work, we’ll be run over by a train. So…. What d’say? Up for getting smeared across a wall?”

Draco glanced around at the muggles in terror before nodding firmly, “I’d rather die than have another muggle touch me.” He shuddered, “I want to rip my own skin off.”

Harry grinned, all insanity and sharp, gleaming teeth. “Hold on loser. We’re getting on the train.”

He felt Draco’s hand grip his arm, felt his magic coil like a snake about to strike and he concentrated more than he ever had in his life. He imagined the feel of leather beneath his fingers, of laughter in his ears, of chocolate from the Trolley Witch and smoke from the Weasley twins fireworks. He _focused_ …

With a sharp crack like breaking glass, they were gone.

He was being forced down a tube that was too small for him. His eyes were bulging out of his head and his lungs were collapsing in his chest. Everything was- _can’t breath-can’t breath-can’t breath_ \- He focused on the feel of a hand gripping his arm and a body against his side until suddenly, with a crack, they were in the middle of a train compartment of the Hogwarts Express.

He, Harry Potter, was the second person in history to apparate onto a moving vehicle.

Draco was gulping in fresh air beside him and his chest was heaving like he’d run a mile in a minute, but it didn’t matter because _he’d done it._ Draco turned towards him and suddenly he had an armful of blond hair and Draco was shaking against him, breathing and crying and- “You silly, _silly_ idiot! You could have _died_! _We_ could have _died_ , you _absolute_ \- “

“Hey, hey… I’m sorry. I’m sorry, lo- “

Harry choked on his own tongue because- _he had nearly called Draco ‘love’_.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

He held Draco for a minute longer before putting his hands on Draco’s shoulders and holding him at arm’s length to scan him. “You’re not missing anything, right? I didn’t splinch you?”

“No… no I’m fine.”

“Good,” Harry said firmly, “Good. Now lets go and find the others.”

They walked down the train, Draco’s shoulders still trembling with a dazed look on his face before they came across the compartment that had all their friends in.

Pansy was the first to notice them. She shot up from her seat and threw herself at both of them, “There you are! We thought something had happened to you!” before flushing brightly and trying to melt into her seat in embarrassment. Harry only laughed and smiled teasingly at her.

Theo shot them both a relieved smile before it was covered by his usual lazily flirty expression. Blaise hardly even looked up; he was scribbling hurriedly in a blue journal and absently playing with a galleon in the other hand. Probably setting up a betting pool on some pore bloke’s relationship status.

Pansy casually asked them where they were. Harry only shared a smile with Draco and said, “We just got held up,” to which Draco made a strangled choke and settled back into his seat with a disbelieving shake of the head.

As the tall London buildings gave way to rolling countryside’s, Flint peeked a head into their compartment and said with a crooked grin, “Failed my NEWTs, Potter. You still wanna be Seeker?”

“Obviously,” Harry replied with a scoff and a small smile.

When a few hours had passed and the Trolley Witch still hadn’t come by, Harry pulled himself up, felt in his pockets – they’d all changed into their robes within the hour – for a few galleons and slid out the compartment and into the corridor, ducking as a Filibuster Firework soared over his head with a crackle. He’d continued down the train with a frown, not really looking where he was going until he bumped into something small.

Harry blinked quickly before picking up the books that had been dropped, giving them back with a polite ‘Sorry’. He made to go-

“Hello Harry Potter.”

Harry startled, blinking before his eyes focused and he saw who he bumped into.

“Luna?”

She smiled serenely at him, bright blue eyes staring back at him through tinted glasses.

“Are those your wrackspurt glasses?”

 _Oh shit._ He shouldn’t have known that.

_(You’re not going mad. I can see them too)_

It was just… standing in front of him was a small eleven-year-old girl with radish earrings and butterbeer corks hanging on a necklace around her neck. Her wand was tucked behind her ear and it was so… _Luna_ , it made him wish for the girl that had stood next to him to feed the thestrals. Luna who was _different_ to them all on other worldly scales, but so utterly _brilliant_ , Harry felt like someone had shoved a vacuum down his throat and sucked all the air from his lungs.

 _(You’re just as sane as I am_ )

“Hello Harry. It’s nice to see you again.”

“I- you-?”

“I remember you, Harry,” she said gently, a small smile on her lips.

A crooked grin formed on his own face and for the first time, he had someone he could properly talk to, someone who _understood_. She beamed back at him and some part of him wondered how weird they looked, just standing there and grinning at each other. Harry took his cherry wand out his pocket - he really needed a holster – and tucked it behind his ear like a mirror image of Luna. A giddy part of his mind wanted him to get his ears pierced and have radish earrings of his own. Perhaps he would.

“You want to come and sit with us?”

“Oh no, that’s alright Harry. I wanted to go and find Ginny. She isn’t friends with the dark prince yet, so I need to warn her about the nargles that might confuse her brain,” she said airily. She rummaged in her bag to pull out two identical necklaces, “I made one for you and her. To keep the heliopaths away,” she added.

Harry took his with a smile, something in his soaring like he was on a broom again.

Someone _understood_.

“Thanks Luna,” he said, “And say hi to Ginny for me.”

 _(They’ll come back. They always do in the end_ )

**\---**

After running into Luna – literally – Harry had returned to his compartment, and after patiently answering his friends questions about the new cork necklace he was wearing and why he had his wand tucked behind his ear, the train slowed and they all got out at Hogsmeade station. Hagrid gathered the First Years – he smiled at Luna one last time – to go to the boats and the Second Years and upwards headed towards the carriages.

He, Blaise, Theo, Pansy and Draco all took one and spent the short journey up to the school talking about the holidays and sharing anecdotes of water fights and that one memorable afternoon when Pansy came over and she chased them all over the Manor for getting her hair wet. She accidentally sent an overpowered blasting hex at Harry and sent him smashing through one of the lower ground windows. (Narcissa had looked up from whatever she was doing and had the honour of witnessing him falling into a rose bush.)

When they got up to the school, Harry patted the thestral’s leathery head and smiled in bemusement as it nuzzled into his palm. It reminded him of that cold he sometimes dreamed of, when ice clung to his skin and frost turned his skin blue. He ignored the odd looks he was getting for apparently stroking mid-air. They should have been grateful that they hadn’t seen anyone kick the bucket, or watched their godfather take the one-way flight to the afterlife, or watched a friend fall to the floor in a flash of green light, or-

Harry was torn from his pity party by Peeves as he swooped overhead and cackled up a storm, putting everyone on edge. Anything that made Peeves happy was something to be weary of.

The enchanted sky twinkled overhead as they all made their way over to their respective house tables and waited for the First Years to be sorted. Harry cast an Aguamenti in his goblet and took a sip, watching as McGonagall strode in with the First Years huddling behind her.

Colin Creevey looked soaked to the bone but smiling brightly, nonetheless. Ginny, with her fiery hair and freckled skin, stood out among them all as she stood shoulder to shoulder with Luna. Something that felt eerily like foreboding settled like a noose around his neck as Ginny caught his eye and smiled that determined smile she got when she wouldn’t back down from something.

He watched as McGonagall set the hat down to sing and began calling out the names.

Colin went to Gryffindor, a small girl called Ashley went to Hufflepuff, a tall girl with a pinched face went to Ravenclaw and as the list got shorter, the noose tightened.

“Lovegood, Luna!”

Luna drifted over to the stool and sat under the hat for less than a minute before-

“ _Ravenclaw_!”

Harry clapped, ignoring his friends miffed faces, and tried to shrug off the weird feeling in his gut. He felt, on a primal level, that something was about to go very, _very_ wrong.

“Weasley, Ginerva!”

Harry took another sip of water-

“ _SLYTHERIN_!”

-and promptly spat it all out.

Ginny _Weasley_ , a _Slytherin_!

Draco seemed to be coughing up his lungs as Pansy stared with a slack jaw, Blaise was gaping, a handful of sickles falling from his hand and clattering on the table loudly. Harry felt something akin to hysterical disbelief well up inside him. _Ginny_ , a _Slytherin_!

Outraged gasps were erupting all over the Gryffindor table. Percy Weasley looked seconds away from marching up to the owlery and sending a frantic letter to Mrs Weasley. Ron Weasley was turning different colours faster than a set of traffic lights. Only the twins looked somewhat accepting.

The feast passed quickly after that.

Dumbledore introduced Lockhart as the new Defence professor (not for long) making most people swoon – Draco gagged – and they all ate in silence, only speaking in hushed whispers about a Weasley being in Slytherin. The only Weasley to ever be a snake. _Ever_.

Harry’s mind reeled.

He caught Luna’s eye over the hall and she smiled that airy smile of hers as she pulled her wand out from behind her ear and tapped a napkin with it. The napkin folded itself into the form of an origami bird before fluttering over to land on Harry’s plate.

 _Everything is different, Harry, but everything is the same_.

**\---**

Severus Snape needed a drink.

He’d thought it was all over, that the Potter brat would go to Gryffindor and he’d never have to see James Potter’s spawn again – other than Potions lessons. He had watched that boy swagger arrogantly into the hall like he was better than everyone else – _Just like his father!_ – and already had his scowl in place for when the blasted hat yelled Gryffindor. He had prepared himself for Potter’s ugly brat to waltz over to Minerva’s house and be fawned over like royalty.

Everything was as it should be.

Until the hat shouted Slytherin.

The boy had taken the hat off his head and instead walked to Severus’ – _Severus’!_ – table. The brat, a perfect copy of that irritating toe-rag _– good riddance_! – Potter, had sat down amongst the green and silver like a king. Like he’d owned the place. Severus, blinded by hatred, resolved to make the boy absolutely miserable until he caught the boy doing something illegal and could get him expelled; the final fuck you to James Potter.

Only it hadn’t worked.

The boy was a saint. He was absolutely abysmal at Potions but somehow, his classmates still loved him. He went against the rules in his flying lessons but still ended up on the Quidditch Team. He had Minerva wrapped around his little finger and no one could see that the boy was a bully _– just like his father_!

The year had passed and somehow the boy ended up in the infirmary with severe magical exhaustion and the charred corpse of Quirrell on the bed next to him. He’d watched the boy under a disillusionment charm all afternoon and not once did the boy try to prank anyone _– just like his father would_. The brat had sat there staring at nothing at repeatedly twirling his wand exactly like the Dark Lord used to.

He’d again watched the boy as he patted the thestrals – and wasn’t _that_ interesting – and sat in the great hall with his posse, everyone fawning over the brat again.

Only… no. The boy wasn’t a carbon copy of his father.

He had Lily’s – _dear Lily. How sorry he was_ – eyes and his hair weren’t the messy birds nest of his father. Sometimes if Severus looked close enough, the boys head was more of a blood red in the reflection of the light.

Something about the boy unsettled Severus now. Something about the way he walked – _like a predator_ – about the way he smiled – _like a loaded gun_ – something about the way he looked – _like a monster in the dark._

Something had changed about the boy and it made Severus feel like he was being hunted.

Which was ridiculous really. The boy was only twelve. Only a student. Severus was a Potions Master, a former Death Eater and a qualified wizard. He could handle any Potter brat. But… sometimes Severus got the feeling he knew much more than his age suggested.

He thought he’d been surprised for a lifetime after James Potter’s spawn got landed into his house, only to be surprised once more when the youngest Weasley sat under the hat and the hat roared Slytherin.

A Weasley. In Slytherin. 

Merlin, Severus needed a drink.


	4. The Garish Robes of Gilderoy Lockhart

_**IV. All we have is now** _

The following morning found a bleary-eyed Draco and a wide-awake Harry lounging on Theo’s bed. Draco, courtesy of Harry, had his mug of everlasting tea in hand – a birthday gift – and Harry was trying to decide whether to use his ebony wand for classwork or his cherry one. Blaise was sitting cross-legged on his bed reading through one of the defence textbooks with a quill in hand and stifling a smile. It seemed Blaise had the same idea as Harry when it came to Lockhart. The man was a fake and his books a joke. As such, the four of them had all wrote a decent commentary in the margins to keep them entertained during defence.

Theo was currently in the bathroom, school uniform on but frowning down at his tie. Apparently, he’d gained an interest other than flirting over the holidays. Imagine Harry’s surprise when he’d glanced at his corner of the room and seen a thick notebook with the recognisably sleek green feather of a quick-quotes quill. Theodore Nott, incredible gossip, second only to Pansy, wanted to be a journalist. After his initial eyebrow raise, Harry did have to admit it was a fitting hobby. Pansy was more into scrap-booking and creative design then writing, and Harry realised that Theo could eventually become as sly and sneaky as dear Rita Skeeter. (Harry really did need to pay her a visit later. It wouldn’t do any good to have the woman publishing less than savoury articles about his friends.)

Draco, despite his impeccable hair and distressed clucking when he didn’t wake up early enough, was not a morning person. He needed at least three cups of Earl Grey to wake up properly. Therefore, whilst Theo was fiddling with his tie and Blaise was reading, Harry and Draco were sitting propped against the headboard of Theo’s bed. Harry’s silk pyjama shirt was clinging to his sweaty skin, the result to another nightmare of running through the woods with Snatchers on his heels and vines trying to trip him up. He preferred to sleep shirtless in the summer months, but Slytherins, despite their big talk, were right prudes. As opposed to Gryffindor tower where all the boys lounged around in just airy pyjama bottoms, Slytherins slept with only the barest amount of skin showing.

“Draco?” Harry asked absently, fiddling with the bottle-cork necklace Luna had given him and he hadn’t taken off.

“Mmhm?”

“Why’d your mum and dad act differently at Diagon?”

“Hmm? Oh, because they’re Purebloods, y’know. They’ve gotta act all tight in public. Father’s had a right bitch fit once. Mother made him sleep on the couch for a month.”

Harry hid his amused smile as he slid his cherry wand behind his ear. He glanced at Blaise, watching as his lips flicked up into a smirk as he wrote down another scathing comment. They all had another hour to get down to breakfast. Harry was surprised Draco wasn’t already hogging the bathroom mirror and gelling back his hair. He glanced down at his ruffled blond locks and decided that it looked much better when it was natural. Much better, like I-want-to-know-what-you-feel-like better.

“Do my hair?” Draco asked tiredly, lidded, hopeful eyes rising to meet his.

Harry lips curled into a smile, “No.”

Draco made a half-hearted groan before snuggling back into the covers, his eyes sliding shut again.

“You’re a right git, you know that?”

“Mhhm,” Harry hummed, summoning his schoolbag from the other side of the room and performing a mindless switching spell with his uniform. Switching spells were horrible for getting dressed in the morning, but Harry was allowed to be lazy for once, he decided.

He rummaged in his bag for his everlasting journal, pausing to glance at one of the older books he’d taken out of the Black library. A devious smile pulled at his lips before he neutralised it and looked up to lock eyes with Theo in the mirror.

He definitely recognised the suave smile on his face and the meandering glint in his eyes.

Harry sighed warily, giving him a Look. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to try and seduce McGonagall again. I still get nightmares about the last time.”

Theo grinned lecherously, “She _blushed_ , y’know. I bet I could have buttered her up if Snape hadn’t interrupted,” he paused, a contemplative look on his face, “You reckon those two…?”

Harry pulled a face, nausea stirring in his gut at the thought, “Merlin, don't - I think I’m going to be sick…”

Theo scowled and glared in a Snape impression, “Turn over to position _three_ hundred and ninety- _four_.”

Harry gagged, scowling at Blaise as he cackled, “Don’t encourage him or I’ll tell him about this Maria of yours.”

The cackles halted abruptly.

Theo peered around interestedly, “Who’s Maria?”

Blaise shot Harry a betrayed look, but it couldn’t quite hide the blush darkening his already dark skin.

Harry smiled slyly, “His ickle crush from Italy. I had to read through a dozen letters like,” He mimicked in falsetto, “ ‘Oh Harry, I don’t know what to do! She makes my heart _gasp_ and my stomach _flutter_! _Oh_ , I think I’m in _love_!’ or, ‘Oh Harry, do you think I’d be able to invite her into my room before her dad chases me away firing _Avada Kedarva_ ’s?’ and, ‘ _Oh_ , Harry-‘”

“Alright, alright! We get it!” Blaise cut in, flushing in mortification as he covered his face his hands, “How about we talk about your love life then?”

Harry shrugged, raising an uncaring eyebrow, “You can’t talk about what doesn’t exist.”

Theo’s lips were slowly pulling into a smile. He turned to Blaise, pulling out a stack of sickles that he seemed to always have on him in case of emergency bets, “Five sickles Harry can’t find himself a girlfriend by the end of the month and keep her until Halloween.”

Blaise grinned back, gleaming eyes surely cooking up some scheme or another, “A galleon he can and until the end of the Christmas.”

They shook on it as Harry exhaled in exasperation and languidly rose from Theo’s bed. He glanced distastefully as the stack of Lockhart books winking up at him from beside his bedside and pushed them into his bag as he ran fingers through his hair.

“You’re both idiots. Five galleons until the end of the year."

They door shut behind him.

**\---**

Seeing as he had somehow been roped into one of Blaise and Theo’s bets – _again_ – and Draco was still half asleep and not even dressed yet, Harry was the first one out of the common room. Most of the Slytherins were already at breakfast and Harry had run out of fingers to count how many gaggle of boys and girls alike he’d seen giggling over Lockhart’s books. It was just like last time. No one could see past the pretty face and realise that the git couldn’t be hunting down vampires when he was apparently camping in Norwich and tracking down a banshee. What a tosser.

Harry took a detour to the kitchens and picked up a slice of toast from the house-elves before collecting his timetable from a scowling Snape. Nice to see that some things never changed.

Herbology was first, and whilst Harry waited for the rest of his friends to get the arses out of bed, he leant against the wall and scanned the trail of Gryffindors heading towards the greenhouses.

Ron seemed to have slotted into a friendship with Seamus and Dean with Neville occasionally tagging along. Last year, they formed their own ‘golden trio’ and tried to solve the whole Third Floor puzzle, but they never would have been able to face off Voldemort. Ron, despite all the brave things he had done in the face of adversity, would have hightailed out of there as soon as caught sight of the abomination stuck on the back of Quirrell’s head. Their trio lacked the unfailing Potter Luck that always had Harry confronting the bad guys in the end. Or perhaps they weren’t as favoured by Fate like Harry was.

Anyways, it was Second Year; the year that the Diary possessed a poor child and opened up the Chamber designed to rid the school of all those that were ‘unworthy’. The basilisk would petrify a few muggleborns (which was a bit contrary seeing as Tom Riddle was dubbed the ‘Mudblood of Slytherin’ until he murdered his grandparents and proved his ‘sacred’ lineage) and then Harry would go charging in with wands blazing, swords bursting from hats and with a reckless sort of disregard for his life that only he seemed to have. That wouldn’t happen this time around. One, Harry had already intercepted the Diary. Tom Riddle couldn’t possess him if he didn’t pour his soul into the book. Harry wasn’t desperate for friends and therefore had no desire to confide all his dirty secrets to a Diary that was able to write back. Two, Harry could still speak Parseltongue. Meaning that if for some reason, the Chamber _did_ open, Harry could just pay Myrtle a visit and have a chat with the basilisk. Maybe he’d convince the Sorting Hat to lend him Gryffindor's sword as well. His back up plan had a back up plan and that back up plan had a back up plan. There wouldn’t be any teenaged Dark Lords skulking about the halls or emotionally detached soul pieces that wanted to drain little girls of their lives in the most melodramatic way possible. Harry had a plan for once in his life. Hermione would be proud.

Harry sighed as he pulled his wand out from behind his ear and cast a muttered, “ _Tempus_.”

Silvery figures slid from his wand and Harry tried not to scowl too hard. No need to become another Snape. There already was one too many.

“Hello Harry,” an airy voice said from behind him.

Harry turned on his heel in surprise, “Luna.”

She smiled sunnily at him, holding two small blobs in her hands. She held them out for him, her dreamy smile never wavering. “These are for you,” she said, holding out her hands, “You’ll need to watch out for the wrackspurts, Harry. They always did seem to like you.”

She glided away without another word, humming a tune he’d never heard before, dirty blonde hair tied into a messy bun that had strands of hair floating around her face. He smiled bemusedly after her before glancing down at the two blobs that lay in his hands.

A pair of reddish earrings.

**\---**

Draco, Theo, Blaise and Pansy found their way to the greenhouses five minutes before Sprout arrived. Unfortunately, so did Lockhart.

“Oh hello there!” he beamed at them all. A girl giggled in the crowd. Someone coughed, “I was just helping Professor Sprout out with the venomous tentacular! Devilishly tricky blighters they are!” he winked exaggeratedly as Sprout made her way towards them, “But don’t go getting ideas that I’m better than dear Professor Sprout. I picked up a few things on my travels.”

Harry didn’t even bother how bored he was. Lockhart was a right wanker and he always would be. He would bet his entire fortune that the man couldn’t even perform a simple _Lumos_.

Sprout finally reached them with tight lips and looking recognisably less cheery as usual, “Greenhouse Three today chaps.”

An excited whisper spread through the Second Year Gryffindors and Slytherins. The third greenhouse included the more dangerous of plants, usually only used rarely for the years below third.

Before Harry could slip into the class, Lockhart’s hand shot out to grab his arm. Harry’s whole body stiffened, going as rigid as a wooden board. He felt the hand on his robes, circled around his arm like a cage. His magic roiled angrily under his skin, eager to push the bastard back for daring to touch him without permission. It was an old habit from during his time on the run and not helped at all by the Dursleys. A touch could mean a punch to the nose or a sudden apparation. Paranoia, Pansy would sigh with an eyeroll.

_It’s not paranoia if they’re out to get you._

Something in his expression must have startled Lockhart because he dropped his hand like it was on fire. Smiling but with a wary look in his eyes, Lockhart turned to sprout and said a pleasantly merry, “Mind if I borrow Harry, Pomona? Excellent.”

And without a reply, he tugged Harry away and looked at him with an excessive sigh, “Harry, Harry, Harry. What am I to do with you?” He shook his head with gleaming teeth.

Harry stared at him blankly.

 _Perhaps a teeth-decaying curse? Actually no. That’s illegal_.

Lockhart’s smile widened, “I really didn’t mean to, you know. It really was a shame when I heard…” he shook his head again.

Patience hanging on by a fraying thread, Harry snapped, “What, _sir_?”

Lockhart stared at him before breaking out into a smile full of too-white teeth. “The bug, Harry! The bug! I should of known that the little taste of fame I gave you would leave you hungry for more. Of course, not everyone could be as famous as I.”

Harry stared. _What the f-_

The nerve. The sheer _nerve_.

“The only bug you’ve given me” Harry said blandly, “Is an aversion to that horrid shade of turquoise.”

And with a disdainful look at those ghastly blue robes the golden git was wearing, Harry turned on his heel and stalked back to the greenhouse.

They were covering mandrakes that lesson. No one would miss one or two leaves going missing.

**\---**

“What lesson’s next?” Theo asked as he lounged on the grass.

“Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Hermione replied, a blush rising on her cheeks as she looked at the _charmingly_ smiling Lockhart on the front cover of _Voyages with Vampires_.

Pansy scoffed, looking up from where she was making a daisy chain, her wand sticking out of her pocket. “ _Please_ darling,” she said, “Don’t tell me you have a _crush_ on _that_ idiot.” Her glossy black bob swayed like a velvet curtain as her face twisted into something devious, giving Hermione a sly smile from below her bangs, “Unless… do you _fantasise_ about him? Do you think about his _pretty_ teeth and _golden_ hair?”

Hermione spluttered, face as red as a tomato as she tied her hair back into a frizzy ponytail, hastily shoving the book out of sight.

Blaise groaned from where he was laying on his stomach, a quill in hand an annotated version of _Gadding with Ghouls_ laying in front of him. “I don’t want to hear another thing about Lockhart’s _lovely_ muscles. Harry’s got muscles and I don’t see you fawning over him.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, “Fuck off, Zabini.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, dragging his eyes from the group of Gryffindor girls he’d been watching. “What’s got your wand in a knot, mate?”

Harry debated making a remark about wands and Notts before he decided he didn’t have the energy. “Nothing,” he said sullenly, “Nothings the matter.”

The matter, as it just so happened to be, was that Draco had to get something from the dorms and completely abandoned him. He’d been acting odd since the morning, never making eye contact and always looking away if he did with a blush rising on his neck. It was completely weird and if Harry didn’t know that the Polyjuice attack would come at Christmas, he’d of thought someone had swapped out Draco for someone else. And no matter how hard Harry thought, he couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

Where Harry and Draco used to be partners in Transfiguration, just the previous lesson, Draco had partnered up with Blaise leaving Harry with Theo. It had stung slightly, to see his best friend distance himself. Harry just didn’t know why.

The good thing though, was that McGonagall was going to start on animal transfiguration after Halloween, meaning that they were finally going to start on the harder aspects of that category of magic. Turning matchsticks into needles and toothpicks into straw was all good, but it wasn’t _challenging_. It was lucky that the Black family library provided the perfect challenge. The Potters were widely known to have talents in human transfiguration.

The bell rang in the distance. Theo groaned before pushing himself up from the ground and offering a hand to Hermione. Harry dragged himself up and tried to think of Quidditch instead of the impending hour of boredom looming ahead. A whole _hour_ of hearing Lockhart talk about himself would drive him insane, he was sure. 

He trailed behind the others as they made their way to Defence, trying to keep the heavy scowl off his face. To think that it was only the first day… they hadn’t even had Valentines yet but Harry was already teetering on the edge of madness. Perhaps he could pay the Weasley twins to smother Lockhart in his sleep?

Draco rushed into the classroom a minute later and took the seat next to Hermione, hardly even glancing at Harry. He told himself the tug on his soul didn’t mean anything. Draco was allowed to sit with other people. It wasn’t like he was Harry’s-

The door banged open and Lockhart strode in, garish turquoise robes fluttering pathetically behind him. Harry saw Draco wrinkle his nose in disdain and resisted a smile. If there was one thing Draco couldn’t stand, it was a crime against fashion.

Lockhart turned to face the class, teeth flashing and hair shining. Merlin, Harry hated the man. “Me,” he said, pointing at it and winking as well. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by _smiling_ at her!”

Pansy gagged, grabbing her nail polish from her bag and painting her nails as Lockhart prattled on. Harry shared a look with Blaise and rolled his eyes.

“I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books — well done. I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about — just to check how well you’ve read them, how much you’ve taken in-“

Theo, Harry saw, as Lockhart passed the ‘tests’ along, was going red in the face as he tried to hold in his laughter. Harry bit his tongue to stop the cackle that bubbled in his throat.

_1\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favourite colour?_

_2\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition_?

_3\. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date?_

Harry coughed suddenly, hiding his grin behind his hand and Lockhart glanced over. Well, the man wanted a test, didn’t he? It was only fair Harry answered honestly.

_1\. Yellow – the colour of the sunshine Gilderoy Lockhart thinks shines out of his own arse._

_2\. To be famous for something other than his face._

_3\. That he managed to survive the drop he had when he was a baby._

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the test.

Harry watched as his smile slipped and a frown creased his brow. The Slytherins hadn’t been kind then. He caught Pansy’s eye as she winked, sly eyes sparkling before she cast a drying charm on her newly black nails.

“Oh dear — hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in _Year with the Yeti_. And a few of you need to read _Wanderings with Werewolves_ more carefully — I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magical and nonmagical peoples— though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogdeds Old Firewhisky!”

Half of the class – mostly the Slytherins – were staring at Lockhart it disbelief. Blaise was already adding in another insult to the margin of _Magical Me_ – the autobiography – and Draco seemed torn between laughing or walking out of the classroom and never looking back.

Lockhart rustled through the papers, pausing at some before his face cracked into a wide smile with too many teeth.

“… but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions — good girl! In fact-“ he flipped her paper over “-full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?”

Hermione raised a trembling hand, blushing.

“Excellent!” beamed Lockhart. “Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so — to business!”

Harry slid his wand into his hand and internally sighed. Maybe the pixies would tie Lockhart up instead. That would be brilliant entertainment.

Lockhart bent down beside his desk and lifted up the rattling cage, beaming smile on his lips. Good god, Harry had never met a man that was so vain – and he shared a dorm with Draco.

“Now — be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.”

Harry set his head in his hands and wondered when the torture would end.

“I must ask you not to scream,” said Lockhart in a low voice. “It might _provoke_ them.”

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

“Yes,” he said dramatically. “ _Freshly caught_ Cornish pixies.”

Theo couldn’t control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn’t mistake for a scream of terror. Harry bit the inside of his cheek.

“Yes?” He smiled indulgently at Theo.

“Well, they’re not — they’re not very — _dangerous_ , are they?” Theo choked.

“Don’t be so sure!” said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Theo. “Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!”

 _Yes_ , Harry thought dryly, _Very devilish_.

Standing at eight inches, the Cornish pixies were an electric blue that looked like the colour of one of Dumbledore’s horrible robes that Draco always looked pained to see. They looked, in Harry’s eyes, like a cross between a dragon fly and a childish blob of play dough.

“Right, then,” Lockhart said loudly. “Let’s see what you make of them!” And he opened the cage.

 _Pandemonium_.

The pixies shot from the cage like darts, a horde of them going straight for one of Lockhart’s revolting portrait – Harry inwardly smirked – and the others bolting in all directions. Desks overturned and chairs ended up suspended on the ceiling. Inkpots smashed, inky liquid staining shirts. Neville Longbottom was being hung by his robes on a chandelier and Blaise was whooping as a pixie dragged him around the classroom.

“Come on now — round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies,” Lockhart shouted.

He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, “ _Peskipiksi Pesternomi_!” It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.

The bell rang a second later as everyone who wasn’t hanging on the ceiling dashed out of the classroom.

Harry kicked his feet up on the desk and sat in his little bubble of shield charms, smirking as Pansy shrieked, a pixie just spilling her nail polish all over the table.

“ _Impedimenta_ ,” He said in amusement, waving his wand in an arc, gesturing with his other hand and watching as all the pixies zoomed back into their cage. Well, not all of them. One or two of them might have ended up hanging around in Lockhart’s office.

Harry let his legs drop off the table with a thump as he rolled out a crick in his neck and hauled Pansy to her feet and levitated Blaise off the ceiling.

“C’mon then. I’m starving,” he said, and strode from the room, tucking his wand behind his ear and leaving his friends gaping behind him.

**\---**

When he stopped by the dorms, he stopped by the doorway, frowning. Something was… missing.

Hoping dearly that he was wrong, he frantically dug around in his trunk, face draining of colour as he realised.

The diary was gone.


	5. The Missing Diary

**_V. Some memories never leave._ **

****

****

Harry glanced dubiously between the mandrake leaf in his palm and the open book on the desk. The book _said_ to carry the leaf in his mouth for a month, but how the fuck was he meant to do that when every time he tried, he sounded like he had either a terrible cold or like he’d downed one too many shots of Firewhiskey. Not to mention the fact that he’d accidentally swallowed one when he was eating dinner last night. For the millionth time, Harry considered asking McGonagall, but then she’d probably turn him away or force him to register with the Ministry. The Marauders had left a legacy though and becoming an illegal Animagus was part of it.

His eyes flickered to the wide spread of books he had spread across one of the tables in the library and sighed. He needed a spell that would help with his voice _and_ keep the mandrake leaf in his mouth. Something that was better than a temporary sticking charm but also would help with his voice…

An idea struck.

Harry rifled through his bag and grinned to himself as he found the journal he needed. The Black family were widely known for their skill in illusions and mind magics, and illusions could be used to disguise something as something else…

He eagerly flipped through the pages, smiling with a bit too many teeth as he found it.

_Vox Dissimulato – the voice altering illusion. A family favourite, the spell can disguise ones voice to any accent or any gender. Be warned, a strong Occlumens can see through the illusion unless the casters will be greater than their own. As it is only an illusion, as soon as the caster falls unconscious, the spell will break and their true voice will shine through. Sometimes, though rare, the caster has a subconscious accent that will shine through with the illusion…_

Harry shut the book gently, and smiled as he leafed through a charms book, paying no interest to the flashy colours. He abandoned that for a transfiguration book and then abandoned that for a different charms book. Completely by accident, he fell upon a French healing book, pausing as he caught sight of something.

_Pour superposer la peau – To layer the skin - Used usually on impatient children with scrapes and bruises to cover the skin and stop scabbing._

He stopped, eyes flitting from the Black family magic book and the French healing book with the glossy cover. He was, daresay, _relieved_ that Arcturus had insisted on learning French. Absently playing with his last mandrake leaf, Harry put up a brief Notice-Me-Not ward around his table of the library and stuck the leaf in his mouth. It was bitter and acidic and rubbery, but Harry knew he could get used to it. Grimacing slightly, he bought his wand to his mouth and muttered the charm, resisting the initial urge to spit the leaf out as he felt a thin layer of artificial skin close over it. He coughed, wincing at the odd weight of the leaf stuck to the roof of his mouth. Still, he murmured the incantation to the illusion, concentrating on how his voice used to sound. Nothing happened but Harry, feeling like a right fool, mumbled, “I’m a right idiot,” before snapping his mouth with an astounded _click_.

His voice was still like it used to be, except it was smoother, a silky baritone instead of a sarcastic sort of squeak. He blinked in surprise. Fuck, that bet with Theo and Blaise was beginning to slant in his favour. With a new voice like his, he could have anyone he wanted falling at his feet. He considered whistling, but as Harry spelled the books back to the shelves and slung his bag onto his shoulder, he thought that it would be a bit too obvious if he started humming MC Hammer and doing a two-step down the corridor.

The weeks had passed in a slow trudge of enduring Lockhart’s farce of lessons – he mostly spent the hour trying to write ‘Loser’ on Lockhart’s forehead wandlessly, but someone spoiled his fun and blabbed just before he got to the ‘r’ –agonizing over what was going on with Draco’s weird behaviour and also attempting to locate the diary.

He’d spent hours under the Invisibility Cloak in the library at night, wand lit up with a _lumos_ , pouring over books and wracking his brain for a good way to find a class seven X dark artefact that had anti-summoning charms, anti-locating charms and anti-everything charms. Nothing helped him until in a moment of brilliance, he remembered the Marauders Map had the ability to locate everyone. A soul shard definitely counted as a fraction of a person, didn’t it?

Yes. Yes it did. 

(He should of realised that it was too good to be true.)

What followed was an intense memorial of the Weasley twins schedules, which lead to Harry now under the Invisibility Cloak and skulking by the entrance of Gryffindor tower, checking the time every five minutes and impatiently waiting for someone to come along and say the password. The Weasleys were currently having a lecture on Summoning Charms – how ironic – by Flitwick and therefore giving Harry a clear slot to grab the Map without interference. No matter how smart the Marauders were, they didn’t put any anti-charms on it. Not that Harry was complaining.

Finally, after another two minutes, a blonde little First Year came along and whispered the password, the portrait swinging open and giving Harry room to slide through.

He stopped in the entrance. Oh-

_(Sirius’ head peeking through the fire, charming grin and bright eyes)_

Red. It was all so red.

_(Ginny, warm and solid, soft lips on his)_

The colour of blood and war and everything dead.

_(Ron’s bright smile as he forgave him, the life in his blue eyes as he laughed over the golden egg)_

The colour of roses and love and everything beautiful.

_(Watching as the tower crumbled and his home fell, all in the name of war)_

The colour of howlers and eyes and the chilling, wine-red of the Dark Lord.

Red. Everywhere. Not grey. Not soft and grey like liquid silver, like mercury melted and the irrevocable feeling of warmth like Draco. Not the comfort of green silk sheets and light filtering through the curtains. Not like home. Never home. Once home but not now. Not now that his robes were the green of ambition and the silver of cunning. Not now that the creature in his chest snarled, sharp teeth dripping with poison and clawing under his skin for release, wished to be wild.

He staggered up the stairs, mind spinning with the red of war and roses and blood and danger and love and-

And suddenly it wasn’t red, but black.

It was leering hand rising from the shadows and satin slipping through his fingers. It was the ebony scales of a snake and the sudden, unshakeable feeling that something was wrong. Something was so very wrong, he felt like he needed to claw out of his own skin.

His wand rose. He didn’t know where he was when his head was filled with crimson, but he had enough strength to croak out an _Accio_ and watch the Marauders Map soar into his hand like it always belonged there.

He stumbled from the tower, collapsing against the wall of an abandoned classroom and holding his head between his hands as _red-red-red-red-red_ smashed through the barriers of his mind.

The helpless feeling of a stunning burst of crimson connecting and beautiful agony tearing through every belief he ever had of pain until everything was on fire and _he just wanted to die_. It was _falling-falling-falling_ and being so sure he would shatter until just as oblivion was about to swallow him whole, a hand reached out and suddenly, falling wasn’t dying but instead living with an arm around his waist and a body next to his. Red was the colour of love and war, and maybe they were one and the same because Harry had fallen in love with the war and the thrill of the fight.

He didn’t know how long it took for him to recover his sane mind. All he knew was the darkness of the sky outside and cold stone surrounding him.

He stood slowly, clutching the Map with weak fingers. His shirt was probably creased and his face like he’d been run over by a hoard of angry centaurs, but he needed… something. He thought he needed someone to understand, someone to know what he’d been through, but that wasn’t the case at all. He needed his best friend. He needed someone that didn’t know because knowledge was power and Harry didn’t need someone else to have power.

He made his way through the dungeons on auto-piolet, climbing the stairs quietly and swallowing before he pushed open the door to the dorms. He could feel the mandrake leaf in his mouth and the weight of his limbs, but none of that mattered. He’d gone from preparing for thievery to collapsing against walls as he walked the thin line between sanity and madness. It was surreal and yet… and yet Harry found himself wanting his best friend.

He was mentally twenty nine years old and all he wanted was a kind embrace. 

Blaise was asleep, his curtains closed. Theo was sprawled out everywhere, limbs taking up as much room as possible. But Draco… Draco was sitting cross-legged on his bed, a crease in his brow as he wrote in some sort of book. The moment he caught sight of him, he got to his feet in an instant, staring at Harry with a look in his eye that he couldn’t quite place.

“ _Draco_ ,” he heard himself say hoarsely.

“ _Harry_ ,” Draco breathed in reply.

And then Harry was surrounded by warmth and that soothing smell of vanilla and arms were wrapped around his waist and his arms were around Draco’s neck and his face was buried in his neck and everything was once again right in the world.

Draco didn’t understand and that was alright, because one day, he would. One day he would watch as a hand was declined and hexes flew and one day, _one_ day, Draco would see the way blood slashed across his chest and he would understand.

Harry felt himself shake and suddenly he didn’t feel invincible. He felt vulnerable and so, so alone in a world that didn’t know.

A hand was in his hair and soothing words were being murmured in his ear and Harry was so, so tired. He didn’t want to be the saviour for once. He didn’t want to be the one that had to walk to his death and save everyone. He wanted someone to save him for once, because he’d let himself fall off the edge and he was waiting for that hand to wrap around his and rescue him from the numbness of nothing.

“Please,” Harry whispered like a broken toy that had long been tossed aside, “Please.”

He didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know why Draco felt like a beacon in the dark, like a life buoy in the ocean. All Harry wanted was right now, because if he thought of tomorrow, the sultry darkness of crimson would sweep him away into the waters and he’d never surface again.

“It’s alright, Harry,” Draco said quietly, “It’s alright. I’ve got you. Forever.”

_Maybe forever can be our always._

The last thing he remembered was silk sheets surrounding him and the warm feeling of arms around his waist before the sweet promise of sleep was pulling him under.

**\---**

He looked in the mirror the following morning.

His eyes, the eyes of his mother, were flecked with the claret red of insanity.

**\---**

They didn’t speak of what happened that night.

Everything went back to normal. Harry was as sarcastic, pessimistic and cryptic as usual and nothing seemed wrong to the casual observer, but one closer would see the way Draco’s eyes would stray to his best friend and Harry would never look at himself in the mirror. He continued with his studies – the mandrake leaf had become bearable and the tiny French accent that accompanied his illusioned voice had become normal. He watched the Marauders Map for hours, waiting for the dot labelled ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle’ to appear.

It never did.

He’d broken into Gryffindor tower again and only suffered a minor panic attack before he pulled himself together. No one wearing red and gold had the diary, Harry was sure. He did the same with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw – he ignored the weird looks he got from his friends when he stormed into the common room one evening drenched in vinegar from the Hufflepuff defence mechanism – which only left Slytherin.

He spent hours obsessing over the Diary, spending both day and night doing everything he could to shut the whole operation down before it could start. He paced restlessly outside the room of requirement, repeating, ‘ _I need to find Tom Riddle’s diary_ ’ like a mantra until the words blurred together and hopeless despair filled him.

(The door never appeared)

On top of everything else, Quidditch season was starting and Flint was becoming more fanatic by the day. He stayed awake until his eyes slid shut and he passed out from exhaustion, only to wake up when the sun dawned by the Slytherin captain hollering about practice. Harry never looked at his eyes in the mirror, too afraid to see the red that tainted his mother’s beautiful eyes. His grip on reality was slipping and time was behaving strangely. Sometimes the hours sped past like the earth was on fast forward, but other times, he’d stare at the fire and hear the slow thud of a second crawling past.

Lockhart had turned Defence into one big stage play. Lessons were spent acting out one of his books; the Slytherins had turned it into a game to see who could read in the flattest voice and so far, Daphne Greengrass was winning. She’d sent a Gryffindor to sleep one memorable lesson. Colin Creevey seemed petrified of him because he was a Slytherin and so the Firstie always squeaked when Harry caught him looking. It had turned into a minorly sadistic game for Harry to flash the boy a smile full of sharp teeth and watch him scarper away.

Snape had caught him out of bed after curfew – thankfully, he’d managed to stuff the Cloak out of sight and slam down his Occlumency shields – and dished him detention, smiling nastily as he reassigned him to Lockhart. Harry’s distaste for the new professor was public knowledge after all. Snape was just as petty as ever to Harry, always snidely commenting on the slightest of things, whether it be the fact his potion was just a shade lighter than the required colour or his tie was skewered slightly. If he weren’t a Slytherin, Harry was sure whatever house he was in would be in the negatives for points.

He knocked on Lockhart’s door just on time for his detention. Time was doing the odd rewind/fast-forward thing it seemed to be doing more often than not. The Marauders Map was wrapped in his Invisibility Cloak and his Cloak was in his pocket.

“Harry – come in, come in!”

He sighed and ground his teeth together, submitting to the mind-numbing boredom that plagued his mind. “Hullo, sir.”

People like Lockhart did not deserve to be called ‘ _sir’_. What an insult to all the respectable authority figures out there.

“You can address the envelopes!” Lockhart told him, as though this was a huge treat. “This first one’s to Gladys Gurgaon, bless her — huge fan of mine —”

Harry sighed again and tried not to look at the horrid portraits that were peering interestedly at him on the wall.

The minutes snailed by. Harry let Lockhart’s voice wash over him, occasionally saying, “Mmm” and “Right” and “Yeah.” Now and then he caught a phrase like, “Fame’s a fickle friend, Harry,” or “Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that.”

 _‘Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that’_ \- what a tosser.

After what felt like decades, the candles began to wane and the flames began to flicker. The shadows stirred in the corner as Harry’s whole body tensed like a snake about to strike. His wand slid unconsciously into his hand as every little noise made him twitch. Something was about to happen and Harry couldn’t remember what. His memory was shit enough as it was, but even utilising Occlumency in the mood he was in would only serve to heighten his paranoia.

“ _Come to me master… so hungry… so hungry for so long… Let me rip you… Let me tear you…”_

Harry’s hand twitched around the quill he was gripping with white knuckles. The quill went up in flames.

Lockhart jumped back in surprise, cutting off his own tirade of his ‘awards’. He laughed nervously, eyes going to check the time before he exclaimed, “Good scot, look at the time! We’ve been here nearly four hours-”

_You don’t say._

“- go on, back to your dormitory, Harry, before Severus catches you.”

Harry wondered how ‘Severus’ would respond to Lockhart calling him that.

He slipped out the door, hastily murmuring, _“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,_ ” and watching as ink bloomed on the parchment. No one was in immediate vicinity. Brilliant. The basilisk was on the move which meant that the Diary was with a student. All he needed to do was have a conversation with the basilisk and kindly ask it to not petrify the students.

Easy. 

_(Don't jinx it, Harry)_

Cloak around his shoulders and Map in hand, Harry made his way to the second floor bathroom, ignoring Myrtle’s shrill cries and focusing on the snake carved into the metal tap.

“ _Open_ ,” he hissed lowly.

There was a click, before the sound of stone grinding against stone could be heard and an angry sort of hiss filled the room. Harry stared and stared and _stared_ , hoping beyond belief that he was wrong. That he had spoken English instead of Parseltongue. He closed his eyes and focused on the snake.

“ _Open_.” 

The same thing happened.

Harry stared.

 _No, no, no nonononono_ -

He hardly dared to breath.

_When had it all gone so wrong?_

Myrtle shrieked again, diving into a toilet.

Harry still stared, despair crashing over him like a tidal wave.

The Diary was gone and he was locked out of the Chamber of Secrets.


	6. The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened

_**VI. The world ended and begun** _

The days following the discovery were miserable.

Harry refused to talk to anyone and only the threat of another detention with Lockhart got him out of bed in the mornings. Draco was worried, he could tell, and Harry had caught Snape watching him with a furrowed brow before sneering and walking away. More than once he’d considered going to Dumbledore, but as much as the man was great, he wasn’t a Parselmouth and short of blowing up the entrance to the Chamber, he couldn’t get down there.

October came with cauldrons full of Pepper-up potions and a long queue that cluttered up the Hospital Wing. Ginny took a sip and because of her fiery red hair, looked like her head was about to combust. She seemed to have settled into Slytherin, but not without a confrontation with snake-hating Ron. Harry walked in on him being attacked by bats flying out of his nose and shared a wink with Ginny before pointedly walking the other way. Looking back, Harry wondered how she could ever have been a Gryffindor in the first place. Her slyness knew _no_ bounds. It also helped that she didn’t have such a rabid crush on him anymore. Ginny had become friends with the youngest Greengrass sister – Astoria – and her confidence had flourished. When Quidditch trials rolled around, Harry remembered her marching onto the pitch like she owned the place, red hair whipping out behind her and a proud green uniform on. She’d strode right up to Flint and straight out said that she wanted to be backup Chaser until a position opened up. She got the place as soon as she shot three goals in a row against Bletchley and flew rings around Warrington. Flint, Adrian Pucey and Cassius Warrington were all graduating next year, meaning the Slytherin team would need new chasers. Flint nearly cried when he saw Ginny fly.

Draco seemed to become more exhausted by the day and only when he nearly fainted in class did Harry pull his head out of his arse and realise that yes, his plans were ruined but that didn’t mean other people didn’t still need him. After that, he made an effort to properly pay attention.

Lounging in the common room and nibbling on a sugar quill, Harry frowned at his Potions essay. Why the hell did Snape need three uses of a diced daisy root? He knew, they knew, everybody knew. Why did they have to write a pointless essay for a pointless professor on a pointless subject? Harry leant back against his favourite armchair and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, taking out a dicta-quill from his bag and muttering a bunch of crap about daisy roots and hoping Snape doesn’t notice the slight slant the quill naturally had.

The entrance slid open and Draco walked in, hair as gelled as usual and uniform as ironed as always, but a distinctive air of wrongness around him. Harry’s frown deepened before he turned his eyes back up to the ceiling and Draco trudged up to their dorms.

“… and daisy roots can be used in a hair-removal potion after a sixth- wait, no, seventh – stir, blah blah blah- ugh. This is so fucking pointless.”

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you, Potter,” Adrian said as he draped himself over the chair next to Harry’s, “Marcy wants to _scourgify_ you into next week y’know.”

Harry shot him a look before grabbing the dicta-quill and ripping up his potions essay. “Tell Marcy that she’s a fucking hypocrite.”

Adrian grinned, “Marcy’s more than a hypocrite, if you get my drift.”

Harry let a smirk tug at his lips before remembering that he was supposed to be an innocent twelve-year-old, not a sixteen-year-old loaded with the dirtiest of jokes. Plastering the most naïve smile on his face, Harry replied blandly, “I have no idea what you mean.”

Adrian took one look at him and snorted, “Of course you don’t. Anyway, Cas sent me over here to tell you that Snape’s looking for you. He’s in a right mood as well.”

Harry groaned, “What have I done now?”

“Don’t look at me, mate. He looked ready to hex my balls off when I ran into him, though.”

“Cheers for telling, Adrian. See you later, mate.”

Harry scooped up his bag and resigned himself to a verbal lashing by Snape. The man hadn’t insulted him in a day – a personal record – so it was bound to come sometime soon. He trudged through the dungeons, imagining all the brilliant pranks the Marauders played on ol’ Snivellus back in the day. They probably crouched under the Cloak, snickering over the map as they hexed the git’s hair green. And then they’d run through the hallways, laughing like idiots and freer than birds…

Harry sighed wistfully as he knocked on Snape’s door, each rasp like a death’s knell. Every Slytherin knew that being summoned to his office meant either someone had died or you were about to get the best news of your life.

“Come in.”

Harry wondered if he had a will prepared as he pushed open the door and cursed his small twelve-year-old body. As far as intimidation tactics went, looking like a midget was not the way to go.

“You wished to see me?”

“ _Sir_ ,” Snape added icily, watching with beady eyes.

Harry bit his tongue. _There’s no need to call me ‘_ sir’ _professor_.

“Of course… _sir_.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed as Harry sat down on the chair opposite, keeping his posture neutral. Not too submissive but not dominating. Of course, Harry could make himself seem like a predator or a meek child and Snape would be none the wiser, but then ten years in the Dursleys’ _loving_ care had him eyeballs deep in the art of patience and the subtle manipulations that a few words could twist. Everyone had expectations and impressions. No matter how un-judging they said they would be, the mind always had a certain image that was impossible to sway.

“I’ve summoned you here because certain knowledge has been bought to my attention and as my duty as Head of Slytherin, it is my job to find answers.”

Harry never moved, his eyes trained on Snape and watching as the man studied him right back. He wouldn’t dare risk Legilimency. The laws on mind-raping a minor had been tightened during the summer due to an ‘ _anonymous’_ tip to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE). Harry’s Occlumency barriers were sturdy enough the defend a passive attack, but against full blown Legilimency? He had no chance. Occlumency required cool feelings and an almost instinctual detachedness to feelings. Harry, for all his skill, had always worn his heart on his sleeve. When he was angry, you knew. When he was upset, you knew. When he was happy, you knew. The only way to survive the vultures in Slytherin was to _be in control._ Foolhardy Gryffindor brashness wasn’t tolerated in the dungeons. Down in the dungeons, amongst the deceiving illusions of green and silvers, it was survival of the fittest. Every man for himself to the point you didn’t realise you’re being stabbed in the back until the knife was buried in the flesh and betrayal broke the fragile dream of success.

Harry didn’t speak but the creature in his chest perked up, milky white eyes gaining a sudden intensity that made Harry think of that moment last year when the ropes had bound his wrists and his wand had clattered to the floor and for a minute, he was helpless and tied to a graveyard in the middle of nowhere, Cedric Diggory’s dead body lying at his feet. He didn’t remember that night much. He remembered the feeling of something… _snapping_ inside him and suddenly his veins had been filled with cold, _cold_ rage and the icy burning of _power_ flooding his blood had set the room alight. Quirrell had burned, Voldemort had fled and the Stone had been destroyed but this time, there were no empty promises to bring his parents back from the dead – unfortunately for Voldemort, Harry didn’t really care for having inferius for parents – or passionate speeches of ‘ _there is no good or evil, only power, and those too weak to seek it’._

Finally, Harry cleared his throat, his eyes sharpening to the point that he could tell Snape was mildly unnerved but trying to hide it. The red flecks in his eyes had dulled to the point you wouldn’t be able to spot them unless nose to nose, but the utter _greenness_ shone like the Killing Curse when he wished it. “What rumours have reached your ears and worried the Headmaster enough that he broke his solid year of silence?”

Ever since that meeting in Dumbledore’s office after Halloween, the man had left him alone. Whether the novelty had worn off or the man’s attention had been stolen, it didn’t particularly matter. After being disillusioned to the Headmaster’s cunning manipulations, Harry had seen him for who he truly was. The man had withheld the contents of a prophecy concerning the immediate future of their world so he could sharpen his weapon’s edge. The death of – who was it? Who died? Why couldn’t he remember? – had been tarnished to be turned into anger and anger into determination and determination into victory. Even from beyond the grave, Dumbledore had manipulated lives with his pretty lies twisted into a web of strings. He jerked his hands and the strings tugged. Harry danced to the man’s whims. Fate had twined his soul to Destiny, just as Death curled skeletally icy fingers around his heart and peeled every layer of flesh and organ and muscle away until it was Just Harry. His life was not his own, but a simple game of chess where the Kings fought over him until the white king fell by the hand of his own pawn and the black king grew so arrogant in his rule that he didn’t notice the noose had tightened around his neck until his head had fallen off.

Hubris was a weakness, and as much as Lord Voldemort hissed that he had no weaknesses, he always would. Arrogance lead to defeat and fear was an emotion every man, every monster, felt, even if it stirred from the depths of a blackened, shrivelled heart. No man was immortal. No man was undefeatable. As long as there was good, there would always be evil. As long as there was light, there would always be dark. Voldemort was the fantasy of a jaded schoolboy, the dream that one day, all that oppose would be dead and total dominance could be asserted over the sheep. _But_ , Harry thought as he let his gaze slide over the jars filled with potions ingredients, _what fun is it to rule over the sheep with no challenge?_ What worth did life hold if existence was unrivalled? Harry would never want immortality because as much as seeing the end of the earth fascinated him, death came for all. It was only natural that one day his soul would be reaped and his mind put at rest. Sometimes he dreamed of a train station and a tall figure with shadows clinging to his skin. Sometimes he dreamed that he had met the personification named Death. But they were only that; dreams. 

“You know of the feud between myself and your… _father_ and the Headmaster tells me you know of an incident that happened in our Fifth Year.”

Harry shouldn’t have been so loose tongued with Dumbledore. It always did come back to bite him in the arse.

“I don’t know any more than the bare basics, Professor. I know why you hate me so much and I know why you cannot see beyond your tinted glasses. My information is my own and I’m afraid that the Headmaster should have known better than to try and weasel answers out of a Slytherin. Do forgive me, sir, for speaking out of line, but Professor Dumbledore does not hold my trust. I have no doubt that his intentions are honest and his concerns valid, but I can be a bit… _protective_ , shall we day, of what is mine.”

The creature in his chest bared its teeth, salvia dripping like acid. His friends fell under his protection by proxy and the knowledge he held was guarded closely to his chest. He had flashed Dumbledore only the briefest view of his cards and the man believed he knew everything there was to know about Harry Potter. So arrogant he was that he could never believe that he could be beaten at his own game.

 _Careful Dumbledore, there’s a new King on your chessboard_.

Snape eyed him unreadably before something changed abruptly in the man’s expression. “Where were you this summer, Potter? Your muggle relatives had symptoms of being confounded and yet there was no magical signature on them. The wards fuelled by your mo-mother’s sacrifice-“ Harry’s eyes sharpened on the slight tumble like a shark would in blood-infested waters.

 _Weakness_ , the creature snarled.

“-have weakened significantly. The Headmaster wishes to know where you went.”

Harry fixed his stare on Snape, his magic flicking a forked tongue in the air and tasting the emotions.

 _Contempt, guilt, regret, indifference, curiosity_ … and the one that surprised Harry most of all, _fear_.

 _Severus Snape_ , Death Eater, _spy_ and Order member, was afraid of _Harry_. He could laugh at the sheer ludicrousy of it.

His fingers tapped a rhythm on he arm of his chair, the repetitive drum soothing his restless mind that hadn’t stopped thinking since the Chamber had refused to yield for him. Should Snape peer into his mind, he’d of been thrown out by the sheer speed his thoughts were whirling at, thin golden threads curling around violet and soft green winding around the both before shooting off into the opposite direction. Harry’s mindscape wasn’t physical, but a huge web that stretched further than the eye could see, all made up of every thought Harry had ever had and turned into threads of string that protected the cylinder of orbs that each held a memory. Voldemort would tear through it in an instant, but a door made of solid iron and buried under a cascade of string shut the connection between them.

Harry had hardly blinked as he stared at the Professor, the flecks of red turning steadily into white as the beast that purred in his chest reared its head. Harry let his lips flick into a smile. “Where I spend my summers are of no concern to the Headmaster. I was safe and behind wards that could keep Lord Voldemort out. Nothing short of a Fidelius could make it more secure.”

He stood then, the glinting emblem of Slytherin flashing as the shadows inched towards him. He attracted the darkness no matter where he went, no matter what curses he cast. He was neither a light wizard or a dark wizard, simply a magical being that, ironically, thought magic couldn’t be cut into two defining categories like good or evil, just magic and the intent that it could be wielded with.

Harry didn’t know, but in that moment, Severus Snape thought of another boy Albus Dumbledore had told him about. A boy that had silky black hair and a charming smile. A boy that smiled with sharp teeth and had the look of a predator. He didn’t know that in that moment, the differences between Tom Riddle and Harry Potter blurred until they were the same and two half-blood Slytherins became one.

Fate’s cherry red lips curled into a smile.

**\---**

Halloween arrived in an abrupt explosion of rubber bats, cheap fake spider webs and animated pumpkins.

Theo had been given detention for passing notes in Transfiguration just before the feast, setting him in a foul mood that not even the mounds of sweets on the table could cure. Pansy made faces every time she caught sight of the decorations, muttering under her breath about ‘muggle loving fools’ and ‘crushing them under my six-inch heels’. One that had chiroptophobia generally didn’t appreciate seeing bats everywhere, even if they were fake. Draco and Blaise had somehow managed to be dragged into Nearly Headless Nick’s death day party so they would be missing the feast. Harry would have gone along to the party himself if it weren’t for the fact that every ghost he met seemed terrified of him and his thestral tail wand. It made sense really. Ghosts remained on the living plane because they didn’t want to move on and a creature that only ones that had witnessed death could see was bound to scare any undead shitless.

The feast passed without any notable excitement. Nobody ran in screaming about a troll or an acromantula or a basilisk (his humour really _was_ becoming as ironic as it was dry) haunting the halls but Harry knew, as he scanned the hall, that as soon as they arrived on the second floor, that they would be given enough excitement to last a lifetime.

Dumbledore rounded up the feast genially and as they all flooded from the hall, Harry realised that apart from Draco and Blaise, no one else had been absent. Something nigged at him, something was whispering in his ear that there was a significance to that statement and only later would he connect the dots.

They stopped on the second floor.

A gasp ran through the crowd.

Harry’s whole face wiped blank.

There, in blood, was the message Harry had been dreading.

_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED._

_ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE_

And below that, hanging from the bracket, was Mrs Norris, fur stood on end and whole body frozen.

Harry glanced around, eyes narrowing when the whisper got louder, the niggle grew into a scratch.

A _part from Draco and Blaise, no one else had been absent_.

 _Draco_ and _Blaise_.

 _Blaise_ and _Draco_.

The whisper turned into a roar. The scratch turned into knives.

Because Harry knew who had the diary and Harry knew what he had to do.

“What’s goin’ on here then? What’s goin’ on- _Mrs Norris_?”

Filch pushed his way to the front of the crowd and Harry withheld a wince. Who would be blamed this time around? The caretaker stared before he whirled around and his trembling finger pointed directly at Ron. “ _You_! You _murdered_ my cat! I’ll kill you! _I’ll kill you_ -”

“ _Argus_!”

Harry watched as Dumbledore swept in and declared Mrs Norris petrified as Snape’s dark eyes immediately fixed on him. No matter what they said, there was a hall full of witnesses that could say that they saw Harry Potter sitting at the Slytherin table for the whole of the Halloween feast. He clearly could not be the Heir of Slytherin.

Harry followed the crowd back to the dungeons, ignoring the conspirital whispers that swept through the masses. The Slytherins were worried and not just for themselves. The whole school would pin it on them because it was obvious that the Heir would be a Slytherin. Harry would bet his Invisibility Cloak that his name would pop up somewhere.

Draco was in their dorm, staring in confusion at his robes that were splattered in red blood that he probably thought was paint. Harry’s jaw clenched in fury as his eyes narrowed into slits and caught sight of a leather-bound journal laying innocently on his best friend’s bed. Draco had probably found the diary on the first day of school and his curiosity got the better of him. After all, Harry wasn’t known for keeping a diary. The compulsions on the book ensnared him further and Draco had begun to pour his soul into the book.

Blaise was in the bathroom and Theo still in the common room…

Rae boiled low in his stomach, untameable, _icy_ fury that seared his veins at the thought of Tom Riddle digging his claws into _his_ best friend. _His_ Draco. In that moment, Harry could have cast a _crucio_ that would have made even Voldemort scream.

Draco looked up just as Harry’s angry expression flattened into a smooth mask.

“Hello, Harry.”

_That wasn’t Draco._

His voice was silkier and Harry could see the clear ring of red that tarnished Draco’s beautiful eyes. Tom Riddle had done the unspeakable and Harry would make him _pay_ if it were the last thing he did. Lord Voldemort had taken the place of his best friend and never had Harry felt as angry as he did in that second.

“Hullo, Draco. How did the party go?”

Confusion sparked in not-Draco’s eyes before it was quelled and that smooth kindness that Riddle was famous for replaced it. “Lovely, of course. Myrtle was delightful company.”

 _Of course she was. You killed her_.

Harry smiled that smile with too many sharp teeth as insanity tangled with the fury and his wand was out in a second, digging under not-Draco’s chin and forcing him to expose his neck. Tom Riddle was possessing his best friend and that was inexcusable. Harry watched as realisation shone in those red-ringed eyes. His smile widened into something inhuman. The creature leered through his grin as his eyes burned cold.

“Hello, Tom Riddle.”

Not-Draco’s eyes widened, “Harry Potter.”

His smile turned dark, “I believe it’s time for you to go, Riddle. Don’t you have a basilisk to command and world domination to plan?”

Not-Draco’s lips turned into a snarl but with Harry’s wand burning into his throat and his finger tracing his pulse, Riddle was at a disadvantage.

“I will kill them, Potter. I will kill every mudblood in this school and it’ll be all _your_ fault.”

Harry’s eyes bled crimson as Riddle’s blew wide with shock.

“You kill them, Tom Riddle, and I’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth,” he breathed, his face just inches away, his lips ghosting not-Draco’s. “I’ll rip out your spleen with my bare hands. I’ll tear out your throat with my _teeth_ ,” his lips flickered into a poisonous smile, “Isn’t that right, love?”

Not-Draco’s eyes fluttered and then, abruptly, his body went limp and the red-rings faded.

Harry stepped back and closed his eyes, reigning his magic in and shoving his feelings into a sickly red thread and shoving it into the corner of his mind. His fingers flexed and his world centred. No need to get angry now that he was gone.

“ _Accio Tom Riddle’s diary_.”

The journal flew into his hands with an angry pulse as Harry shoved it to the most secure location in his trunk. He’d dump it in the room of hidden things later, where no one could find it. Tom Riddle was a disease, one that was the most persistent of them all.

Blaise slammed the bathroom door open, humming, smiling at Harry as he sprawled himself on his bed. “What did I miss?”

Harry laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all.


	7. The Rat and the Room

**_VII. The beauty of innocence_ **

Opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach the trolls ballet, there was a room. It was an odd room, a strange room. Walk past it three times and anything you desire shall await on the other side. Many shall stumble across it, but most are destined to never find it again for the room stays hidden until one desires it. The Come and Go room, the elves call it as they chitter excitedly. The Room of Requirement, wizards murmur in awe. It was one of Hogwarts most misty secrets, scoffs of divisiveness answering when one yelled of a room that could provide _anyone_ with _anything_ they wanted. Even magic had limits and in the eyes of arrogance, rules were abhorred but they were laws that everyone followed, no matter how folly.

Once upon a time, a strange boy with a strange name charmed a ghost and she told him of her mother’s lost diadem. He was sweet, flattering. He smiled and listened and manipulated her until he ventured to a hollow tree in Albania and stole the diadem with a dark look in his tinted eyes and a cruel smile on his sweet lips. He found the room. He found the Room of Desires, the Room of Wishes, the Room of Requirement and his own hubris made him believe that only he had discovered the room. He wished for a room to hide his greatest treasure, a diadem of wisdom, so _innocently beautiful_ , into a tool for immortality, a host for the darkest of magics until it was no longer ‘ _wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure_ ’ but a horcrux for the worst wizard to walk the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

Another boy had paced back and forth in front of that room, but for a different reason. He had a friend that was a house-elf and the house-elf had heard of their need for a room and decided to share the secret. The boy had not looked for a place to hide a piece of his soul, but for a room that could help him teach his friends to survive. War was brewing on the horizon and the boy that had seen too much needed to help his friends protect themselves. He paced three times in front of that wall and thought, ‘ _I need a place to teach Defence’_. It was pure and noble and innocent until it wasn’t and a toad dressed as a woman blasted that wall apart and their kind and happy memories cracked like a shattering mirror.

Harry stood outside the Room of Requirement now, the Diary stuffed in his pocket and surrounded by an angry strangulation of his magic. A scowl seemed to subconsciously pass his face as he glanced down at the parchment and muttered, “ _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_.” Ink bloomed into lines into lines into lines until a map of Hogwarts lay in his hands with tiny little footsteps pattering along corridors. Harry’s eyes flickered along the corridor his dot was standing on, a nostalgic smile pulling at his lips when he saw ‘ _Harry Potter’_. He remembered sneaking around at night with the Map in his hands and the cloak over his shoulders and feeling the thrill of adrenaline at the thought of the risk of being caught. _Delicious_. He paced back and forth three times, thinking with focus, _‘I need the room where everything is hidden. I need the room where everything is hidden. I need the room where everything is hidden’_ until a door appeared and Harry slowly – _hesitantly_ – pushed it open.

The large, cathedral-like room appeared and despite the grim purpose he came, he couldn’t help but feel a little awed. He was standing in room the size of a large cathedral, whose high windows were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with towering walls, built of what Harry knew to be objects hidden by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. There were alleyways and roads bordered by teetering piles of broken and damaged furniture, stowed away, perhaps, to hide the evidence of mishandled magic, or else hidden by castle proud house-elves. There were thousands and thousands of books, no doubt banned or graffitied or stolen. There were piles of glinting jewellery and gems and fancy clothes; there were chipped bottles of congealed potions, glowing orbs, discarded wands – illegal no doubt, cloaks and canvases; there were what looked like dragon eggshells, shimmering liquids in corked bottles whose contents still glinted enticingly, several rusting swords, and a heavy, bloodstained axe – probably McNair’s, Harry thought with amusement. The room was wonderous and Harry hardly spared a glance as he mindlessly tossed the diary over a large wall of things. Who gave a fuck about a diary when there was a whole room filled with things older than himself and full of hidden knowledge?

And suddenly, Harry had an idea.

He had money – _loads_ of it, like _roll_ in it loads – but that was his parent’s money, his family’s money. He certainly had enough to live a life of luxury three lifetimes over, but Harry had always worked for what was his. He had worked to get food from the Dursleys, he had worked to get higher grades than Dudley, he had worked for the pennies he’d get from the neighbours. He had always worked, so to have everything he wanted handed to him on a silver platter… well, it made him uneasy. The Ministry could try to seize his vaults. Someone could steal his key and nab a bit of hair. His money was his family’s legacy but it could be snatched from him before he could say _wait_.

So… what if he sorted through the room of abandoned objects and sold all that could be sold and fix what could be fixed? He was in a room filled with illegal, rare and probably ancient objects and only he knew about it. He could sort through the books and take what ones he wanted before generously selling the rest. A grin tugged at his lips and Harry closed his eyes and wished for what he wanted the room to do. He opened his eyes again and the grin grew impossibly wider. The books were all stacked into many neat piles, oldest on the bottom, newest on the top. The broken furniture was placed against the wall with the whole furniture in front. The clothes were all separated, silk dresses and embroidered dress robes laying there all for him. Rows and stacks and _everything_ all _for him._

His wand flickered as silvery digits slid out the end, the time hovering in the air before disappearing. He had time. No classes until Defence in the afternoon and seeing as the inhabitants of the castle were only just beginning to rise, well, Harry had a good chunk of the day to himself.

He grinned and sat crossed legged by the many stacks of books, tossing aside the glossy Charms textbooks and leafing through the annotated series of Transfiguration texts. It seemed that Hogwarts had many prodigies in their subjects that liked to improve the class books. Not that Harry was complaining. The girl that altered the Transfiguration books – Lisa Lovegood, probably a relative of Luna’s – had many tips and cheats on conjuration and alteration. Potions textbooks – so illegal they made Harry giggle _madly_ for a minute – and Herbology journals – so rare, collectors would be frothing at the mouth for even a _chance_ to look at them – and Arithmancy equations – so genius even _Einstein_ would be flabbergasted. Faded textbooks on healing – probably from when it was an elective – that Harry browsed over for a while and put them in the ‘keep for himself’ pile. Forgotten knowledge on weather magics that Harry couldn’t make neither heads not tails of but looked worth something. Thick journals of Dark magic, not Dark but _Dark_ , the sort that if the Ministry saw him looking at, he’d be shipped off to Azkaban quicker than he could say ‘dementor’. Books on soul magic – Harry read them with shining eyes, thinking of how beautiful it could be to be able to look at someone and see their _soul_ – and the mind arts.

Soon he had a pile of books just for him and a slightly larger pile of thick tomes that Harry would sort into legal and illegal piles to sell down Knockturn Alley. Borgin would salivate at the prospect of getting his grubby hands on the long-forgotten books.

His everlasting journal – the one he bought – was set up with a translating quill and a spell designed to imprint words from one page to another, copying all the worthwhile books into his journal.

Curiously, a small black book whispered to him and as Harry reached towards it, he couldn’t help but shiver at the sheer _rightness_ the thing gave off. It was like he’d been searching for something he wasn’t aware of and he wasn’t even aware _of_ it. The book trembled under his touch before a warm pulse of magic felt for his own and Harry suddenly felt like his limbs had been turned to liquid or he’d just sunk into a warm bath after a cold day. He didn’t open it, but he did place it in his pocket before he moved on to the broken wands, casting another time revealing spells and cursing when he realised Defence was in half an hour. The wands would be the last thing he rifled through today no matter how much he wished he could stay all day and look through the three trunks that practically _oozed_ knowledge. 

There weren’t many wands, and a few were snapped but the twelve that were whole all differentiated from each other. Red and brown and white and grey and black. He picked up a charcoal grey one, letting his magic curl around the wood and identify the core.

Ash and mermaid hair, beech and phoenix feather, cedar and troll whisker, fir and the hair of a nundu, hornbeam and crow feather.

Harry waved them all, setting aside the wands that didn’t produce a spark and keeping the one’s that shot out eager lights like a canon blast. The hornbeam was the most responsive and Harry frowned pensively when he realised that his three wands all had a connection to death. A thestral tail hair – seen only by those that had witnessed death, a crows feather – the messengers of death, and basilisk venom – able to kill someone with a single glance. Whilst unsettling, it wasn’t exactly unexpected. Harry was sure that when he had died _(green light rushing towards him- cant dodge- must die_ ) he had met a tall shadowy figure. He dreamt of the cold at night but thought of that odd train station in the day. Sometimes it was a train station, otherwise it was a bank and in rare occasions, a big room with two doors and filled with silvery orbs. They were strange thoughts, but through it all, the shadowy man stayed the same.

Harry shook his head, pocketing the wand and glancing morosely at the books and trunks and cloaks waiting for him. He couldn’t believe he was dumping his newfound hobby for lessons with _Lockhart_. Lockhart who couldn’t cast a simple shield charm, let alone silence a load of screaming banshees.

Harry left his journal where it was and set a new inkpot down, watching as the words copied to his journal, his own grimoire of knowledge.

One day, one day he would drag Gilderoy Lockhart to the Astronomy Tower and re-enact Dumbledore’s death.

Yes. Yes he would.

**\---**

Sitting in Transfiguration the next day, Harry sighed as his eyes became lidded and his head rested on his folded arms. A week after the chamber incident and the whole school was still talking about it. Speculation was common and if anyone dared label the theories ridiculous, they would find themselves on the suspect list. They were turning animals into water goblets and whilst McGonagall lectured, Harry tried not to doze off.

His sorting of the room was going along nicely. He only had the furniture, the clothing, the potions and the huge horde of random objects to sort through before he could start clearing it out. Harry had found Tom Riddle’s diadem and put that with the Diary in the furthest corner of the room, so he didn’t have to worry about the chamber until later because he was going to have a chat with the basilisk after dinner. He planned to bring a cow as a peace offering.

Just as Harry was about to fall asleep, Hermione put her hand up. He inwardly groaned.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” McGonagall asked with her signature pursed lips. Beside Harry, Pansy looked up from where she was doodling on her notes.

“I was- I was wondering, Professor, what you could tell us about the Chamber of Secrets.”

Draco, who was drumming a quiet beat on his desk, stilled, unconsciously rubbing his wrist. After the Diary had left him, Harry had obliviated him of his memories and then filled in the gaps the best he could. He was no master at the mind arts though, but it was good enough to satisfy Draco. He didn’t need the guilt that would weigh at him if he discovered that it was he who opened the Chamber.

“The Chamber of Secrets?” McGonagall repeated with a frown, “My subject’s Transfiguration, Miss Granger, not gossip spreading.”

“Oh, but please, Professor! All the copies of _Hogwarts: a History_ are gone and no one knows what exactly the Chamber is, and-“

“All right, Miss Granger. As the class look so… interested, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

McGonagall released a breath as he faced them all, her face oddly grave.

“You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago — the precise date is uncertain — by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution.”

She paused, gazed sharply around the room, and continued.

“For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.”

McGonagall paused again, pursing her lips.

“Reliable historical sources tell us this much,” she said. “But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing. Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.”

“The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course,” she said hurriedly as she saw the eager looks she was getting. “Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible.”

Hermione’s hand went back in the air, her bushy hair fluffing like a cloud behind her. “Professor — what exactly do you mean by the ‘horror within’ the Chamber?”

“That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin, and the Heir of Slytherin alone, can control,” she said and the classroom erupted into whispers. McGonagall straightened up, her face becoming stern. “Now, we are learning _Transfiguration_ and that is what I teach, not made-up legends designed to scare. If you have a pet – a rat or a mouse – then you can use them, but if not, take a mouse from the cage and repeat the incantation, ‘ _Calice Mutia’_ ”

The class whispered on the Chamber, grumbling at they took a rat before going back to gossiping. Harry rolled his eyes.

Harry took a white mouse from the cage and sulked, dreaming of his nice warm bed with his nice warm pyjamas and nice warm sleep…

“Scabbers! Stay _still_!”

Something sparked withing Harry. Something violent. Something dark.

His eyes flickered upwards…

Scabbers. Rat. Peter Petti-

 _Sirius_.

…and the world exploded.

_A head was shooting upward from the ground; limbs were sprouting; a moment later, a man was standing where Scabbers had been, cringing and wringing his hands. Crookshanks was spitting and snarling on the bed; the hair on his back was standing up._

_He was a very short man, hardly taller than Harry and Hermione. His thin, colourless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who had lost a lot of weight in a short time. His skin looked grubby, almost like Scabbers’s fur, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes. He looked around at them all, his breathing fast and shallow. Harry saw his eyes dart to the door and back again._

_“Well, hello, Peter,” said Lupin pleasantly, as though rats frequently erupted into old school friends around him. “Long time, no see.”_

_“S—Sirius… R—Remus…” Even Pettigrew’s voice was squeaky. Again, his eyes darted toward the door. “My friends… my old friends…”_

Pettigrew-

 **Traitor** -

 _Sirius_ -

_Pettigrew had fallen to his knees as though Harry’s nod had been his own death sentence. He shuffled forward on his knees, grovelling, his hands clasped in front of him as though praying._

_“Sirius — it’s me… it’s Peter… your friend… you wouldn’t —”_

_Black kicked out and Pettigrew recoiled._

_“There’s enough filth on my robes without you touching them,” said Black._

_“Remus!” Pettigrew squeaked, turning to Lupin instead, writhing imploringly in front of him. “You don’t believe this — wouldn’t Sirius have told you they’d changed the plan?”_

_“Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter,” said Lupin. “I assume that’s why you didn’t tell me, Sirius?” he said casually over Pettigrew’s head._

_“Forgive me, Remus,” said Black._

_“Not at all, Padfoot, old friend,” said Lupin, who was now rolling up his sleeves. “And will you, in turn, forgive me for believing you were the spy?”_

_“Of course,” said Black, and the ghost of a grin flitted across his gaunt face. He, too, began rolling up his sleeves. “Shall we kill him together?”_

_“Yes, I think so,” said Lupin grimly._

_“You wouldn’t… you won’t…” gasped Pettigrew. And he scrambled around to Ron. “Ron… haven’t I been a good friend… a good pet? You won’t let them kill me, Ron, will you… you’re on my side, aren’t you?”_

_But Ron was staring at Pettigrew with the utmost revulsion._

_“I let you sleep in my bed!” he said._

Memories- of a rat that betrayed his parents. Of a man who was wrongfully imprisoned. He- He remembered days in the Black family house spent with- with his godfather and then- and then he remembered- he remembered-

_One couple were still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix’s jet of red light: He was laughing at her. “Come on, you can do better than that!” he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room._

_The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest._

Harry’s breath was ripped from his lungs.

_The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock._

_Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore turned to the dais too._

_It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch…_

_And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather’s wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place._

_Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange’s triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing — Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second…_

_But Sirius did not reappear._

_“SIRIUS!” Harry yelled, “SIRIUS!”_

_He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out again…_

_But as he reached the ground and sprinted toward the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back._

_“There’s nothing you can do, Harry —”_

_“Get him, save him, he’s only just gone through!”_

_“It’s too late, Harry —”_

_“We can still reach him —”_

_Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go…_

_“There’s nothing you can do, Harry… nothing… He’s gone.”_

The creature in his chest _roared_ -

Harry lunged.

He crashed over the desks, rage contorting his features into something twisted and dark, something murderous. Ink smashed against the floor and people screamed but Harry didn’t care. He stole the rat – _betrayer-traitor- **kill** - **him**_ – and he took his wand out.

_“You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain — to enjoy it — righteous anger won’t hurt me for long — I’ll show you how it is done, shall I? I’ll give you a lesson —”_

Oh yes, Harry wanted pain. Harry wanted the rat to _scream_ \- but first-

“ _Mutare Tergum_!”

Screams rang through the classroom but Harry couldn’t hear past the roaring in his own ears. The rat’s limbs grew longer, hair turned back into his skull, a human face burst from the rodent. Harry tore off the sleeve, exposing the Dark Mark and not pausing to savour the satisfaction.

“ _You betrayed them_! You betrayed my parents, you fucking _wanker_! Traitorous little rat!”

“H-Harry! You-You look so much li-like James! Like _James_!”

A scream tore Harry’s throat and his wand levelled with the rat. The tip of his wand glowed a stunning red, the incantation on his tongue-

His magic crackled angrily around him, the smell of ozone blanketing the classroom.

The beast – for it was a beast, not a creature – wanted to tear his spine out and wear it as a scarf, but there were people there. He couldn’t use an unforgiveable successfully in a classroom of children.

But-

_Let him scream._

A wicked, _wicked_ idea came to Harry as he yanked the arm with the Dark Mark closer and hissed, “ _Make him scream, little serpent_.”

The Dark Mark bled black and suddenly, the rat was trying to tear his own arm off and he was screaming and screaming and _screaming_ -

The door to the classroom slammed open, a silver beard and blue robes filled Harry’s peripheral vision and someone tugged him back from where his wand was digging a burn into Pettigrew’s neck. It didn’t matter when Pettigrew was screaming so beautifully.

“Harry,” Someone was saying in his ear, “We’re going to my office.”

 _Scream little rat,_ **_scream_**.

“Harry, can you hear me?”

 _Sirius_ \- oh fuck- _Sirius_!

Innocent. Innocent. Innocent.

Sirius Black was innocent and his godfather.

And suddenly Harry was laughing and the beast in his chest was receding with its eerie white eyes and all that mattered were Pettigrew’s melodious screams that Harry could still here even down the corridor.

**\---**

**_Rat Revealed: Peter Pettigrew Discovered Alive!_ **

_In a shocking turn of events, Peter Pettigrew has been discovered alive at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hiding in his illegal Animagus form. Pettigrew, known for his ‘defeat’ of Sirius Black (see page 9) was thought to be deceased after twelve muggles were killed in an explosion eleven years ago. Aurors on investigation said that all that was left of Pettigrew was his finger and only Black was left standing, laughing. Black was detained immediately and Pettigrew was declared a hero for his bravery in aiding the Ministry in detaining a criminal._

_But then why is Pettigrew alive? Why did he hide as a pet rat for all these years when he was hailed a hero?_

_Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was called to Hogwarts as soon as Pettigrew was discovered and she had only this to say, “Peter Pettigrew has been discovered and I have confirmed that he has the Dark Mark. Investigations are underway at the current moment and we are working to reopen the case of the Potters and Sirius Black’s betrayal. Pettigrew will be awaiting interrogation and if procedure demands it, a trial in front of the Wizengamot.”_

_Things are not as they once seemed and let it be known that I, Rita Skeeter, will work to unveil the truth and serve justice to those that deserve it._

_Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet correspondence, 1992._

_(For more information on Sirius Black: Page 9)_

_(For more information on the Potters murder: Page 10)_

Harry smiled as the Great Hall exploded all around him.


	8. The Basilisk

**_VIII. Time is everything we have and don’t_ **

Water crashed against jagged rocks as a storm raged overhead. Salty waves lapped against the walls, creating a cacophony of noise as lightning illuminated the sky and the winds carried the screams of anguish that never stopped. A broken record. It was a miserable place, but then again, what else did the lowest of society deserve if not misery? Murderers. Rapists. Serial Killers. Arsonists. They all inhabited the impenetrable prison that stood bleakly in the middle of the North Sea. Azkaban was a horrible place, and the dementors went _beyond_ mere horrible. Every good memory was feasted upon until all that was left were terrifying experiences and mad laughter. A woman once proud and beautiful was now a husk, a husk that only felt cruel amusement and looked only a sliver of her former beauty. A man, arrested by his own father but saved by his mother, was thought to be buried under a nameless patch of grass just as undesirables deserved.

A dog whimpered somewhere deep within the imposing block of solid stone. Matted, grimy black fur covered a thin body, head bowed low, ears plastered low and curled in the corner on a small cell with only a small mattress and chamber pot for company. The dog was not only a dog, but a man. A man wrongfully imprisoned that spent his days dreaming of the day he would pounce upon a rat and rip out its heart for the treason it committed against his best friends. The dog curled further in on himself when frost started covering the sparse space of stone that was his. Rattling breath sounded like a siren; a dying man’s breath covered with the rising tide of despair that poured off the fiends like radio waves. Cold, cold chills crept up his spine like crawling fingers, reducing him to a shivering mess. The dementors hovered outside his cell, shadowed hoods floating like feathers as a rotting hand slowly – _slowly_ – curled around the door, leaving a small tray of food and pausing before drawing a breath and leeching any happiness that could be found. The dog, no matter how hard he tried to curl in on himself, couldn’t stop the screams that drilled in his ear or the horrified bolts of spell fire from a distant memory. A flash of glassy hazel eyes that were once full of mischief; feathered black hair and shattered glasses. A shard of bright green orbs filled with curiosity and kindness with fiery red hair framing a cold face.

_James-Lily-James-James-Lily-Lily-James-_

_I’m-sorry-Prongs-I’m sorry-_

Just when he thought he’d fall unconscious from the - _pain-agony-kill-me-please_ \- warm silver light flooded the halls, so warm and _happy_ , the dog shifted into a man and leaned closer to it. A silver eagle soared through the air, spilling the long-sought tranquillity and making the man nearly cry in relief.

The clack of steps – actual _human_ steps, not the horrible float of a dementor – made their way down the corridor, not pausing to stop by the hands that reached out and the grisly screams that had settled into something like background noise by now.

The feet stepped outside his cell. A woman stood there, rich red robes flaring by her side, wand held to the ground and silvery eagle on her shoulder. Her hair was in a curly ponytail, mousy hair whipping out behind her and a smile on her lips despite the despair that practically hung like a stench in the air. A monocle was covering her left eye as she peered down at him.

“Sirius Black,” she said, “Long time no see.”

Sirius looked up, looked closer at her as the blinding light of the eagle burned his eyes, before an unhinged grin spilt his gaunt face. “Amelia _Bones_.”

And then he was laughing, not the bark of a dog, but a maddening cackle that tasted of relief and justice and topped with just a spoonful of insanity.

_I’m coming for you Wormtail. I’m coming for you and then caring for my godson. My little Prongslet._

**\---**

**_ One Week Earlier _ **

Dumbledore peered at him over half-moon glasses, vibrant robes illuminated by the sun that filtered through the windows and made his various trinkets sparkle. It _was_ a nice day. Shame it was tainted by the stain that was Peter Pettigrew.

“Mr Potter,” he said with a sigh.

Harry didn’t look up from where he was clenching his wand in an iron grip and trying to shove down that cold fury that still lingered. He’d lost control in Transfiguration and unintentionally flaunted his Parseltongue abilities. According to half the school, he’d just shot up to number one on the suspect list – something he hadn’t wanted to happen. It had been _imperative_ he remain innocent.

“ _Harry_.”

Harry looked up slowly, face so blank, he could have been carved from stone.

Dumbledore sighed wearily, aging a decade before his eyes. “How did you know Mr Weasleys rat was Peter Pettigrew?”

“Pettigrew was an Animagus. Weasley’s rat was missing a toe. I connected the dots.”

“How did you know the reversal spell, Harry? From what I understand, only Minerva’s Seventh Years are taught the spell.”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, the lie on his tongue tasting sour. “Adrian taught me. Said you never know when someone could be bugging your conversations.”

His lips twitched at the pun. Poor Rita.

A frown creased Dumbledore’s white brows. “You have Occlumency shields, Harry. Very good ones. As do your friends.”

Harry heard the unspoken question just as his mind homed in on the ‘ _as do your friends’_ and realised that the meddling old goat had tried to read _his_ friends minds. The rage came back with vengeance as Harry ruthlessly squashed it. Anger clouded his judgement and he needed a clear mind when Dumbledore was laying verbal traps in all his words.

“Yes. They do. I taught them.”

He was planning on learning Legilimency. Maybe he could test their barriers whilst he practiced.

“Remarkable for such a young age. I have many things I need to ask you, Harry, but all of them seem insignificant.” Dumbledore stood suddenly, Fawkes flying to his shoulder as he stood by the window overlooking the grounds. Harry remained sitting.

“You remind me of someone I used to teach, Harry. He was a Slytherin, a half-blood, an orphan, a Parselmouth. I expected someone like James Potter when you came to Hogwarts; I expected someone innocent and kind and naïve; I expected you to go to Gryffindor, my dear boy. I didn’t expect someone so jaded and old in soul.” He turned from the window; eyes sorrowful. “You’ve already seen so many horrors in this world already, Harry, and an old man tried to add to that. It’s taken me a year to realise that children shouldn’t be manipulated into soldiers and innocence shouldn’t be twisted for a war that has come to a halt. I’m so sorry, my dear boy, for all I’ve done.

“I was a fool. I told myself you were too young to know. I withheld information because I put hope into a single prophecy- “

_Was he…?_

“- that I should’ve recognised as self-fulfilling. The witches and wizards of the nation put trust in me and I failed them. I tried to put the weight of the world onto a boy’s shoulders, Harry, and for that, I will let Time be my judge, jury and executioner. All I ask, my boy, is for your forgiveness.”

Harry sat still, his grip on his wand slackening as hesitant hope split through his jaded anger. Dumbledore didn’t tell him the prophecy until Fifth Year because no matter what he said, the old man hadn’t trusted him. This Dumbledore… this Dumbledore was telling him as an act of _peace_ , as a plea for _forgiveness_. He swallowed.

“I only ask that Sirius is freed and that you trust me and listen to my advice. That is all I ask, sir.”

Dumbledore nodded, two silver tracks running from his eyes to his glistening beard.

He was trusting him, Dumbledore was _trusting_ him, therefore it was only fair that Harry gave an act of trust back.

“Something you’ve been searching for lies in the Gaunt Shack. There’s a curse on it to make you disregard your common sense. Be careful, headmaster.”

Dumbledore bowed his head in acknowledgement, wand – The Elder Wand – rising to his temple and pulling a string of wriggling light that fell gently into a silver dish on the table – pensieve – as a silver figure rose from the surface and Trelawney’s hoarse voice spoke.

Harry gripped the table.

_“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born from the ashes, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live whilst the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”_

Trelawney sank back into the depth of the pensieve as the whole office fell silent. Fawkes trilled mournfully, knowing eyes turning to Harry who had frozen into an unnatural stillness. The red in his eyes faded into complete green, the luscious verdant turning into the acidic light of the Killing Curse. He remembered the prophecy. He remembered the despair that tightened into a fist over his heart as the tides tugged him under. He remembered wondering how he, _Just_ _Harry_ with no _remarkable_ _talents_ , could kill the greatest Dark Lord of their time. But that wasn’t the reaction he was having. No. He knew, deep within him, that it was his destiny to kill Voldemort. It would always be Harry Potter and Voldemort. Harry Potter and Tom Riddle. Two different sides of the same coin.

Tom was what Harry could have been if he’d chosen to let his anger dominate him. Harry was what Tom could have been if he’d chosen to love. Where Harry had persevered and pulled his anger down, Tom had stewed in it, using his magic to hang rabbits from rafters and snap bones. Fate was one cruel bitch because she was essentially saying that they had to kill themselves. They were one soul split in two, Harry thought bitterly.

There was something singing, he noticed distantly. A whisper and a murmur and a song all calling to him. It felt like the warmth of his Invisibility Cloak – _Death’s_ Invisibility Cloak – and the part of Harry’s mind that wasn’t being uncharacteristically philosophically nostalgic, noticed that something was straining in the pocket of Dumbledore’s robes.

He knew, with abrupt certainty as his mind snapped back into focus, that the Elder Wand wasn’t as loyal to Dumbledore as he may think.

Harry turned on his heel quickly, pushing away the urge to summon the thing. There were too many explanations he’d have to give if he bonded with the legendary Wand of Destiny and stole it from under the Headmaster’s crooked nose.

Fawkes trilled hesitantly after him – Harry’s magic recoiled in uncertainty – but he reached for the door and only when he had nearly disappeared from view did he turn and lock eyes with Dumbledore who was staring after him.

“Thank you for your trust, Professor. I have much to think about.”

Dumbledore bowed his head. “Thank you for your patience, dear boy. Come and see me again soon.”

Harry nodded and the door shut softly behind him.

**\---**

They sat quietly in the Room of Requirement.

Pansy leant her head against her knee as she leant against Blaise’s leg, watching him vividly; Draco sat beside him; unusually quiet, grey eyes fixed on him. Theo wasn’t bantering like normal in the armchair by the fireplace.

Harry sat in the centre of them all, staring at the wall ahead with unseeing eyes. They’d all – by mutual unspoken agreement – agreed to talk in the Room of Requirement. Harry needed to give them explanations, but how was he to explain that he died at seventeen and the being called Death – _Death!_ – sent him back to wreck chaos on the world.

Harry sighed in resignation.

He couldn’t tell them that. They were all twelve years old. Children. They would be uncomfortable being friends with an adult.

“Alright,” was all he said, but his audience all perked up and before he could open his mouth, he was being bombed by questions.

“How’d you know Weasley’s rat was Pettigrew?”

“Were you going to _crucio_ him?”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were a _Parselmouth_!?”

“Would you’ve killed him?”

The last question silenced them all.

Harry breathed out, eyes shutting.

“Let me tell you all a story.”

Draco shifted by Harry’s side, his pale hand brushing against his own, making his fingers twitch. He was practically melded by his side, but Harry didn’t mind. Pansy sat up and settled herself into an armchair that just popped into existence.

Harry swallowed.

“When my mum and dad were murdered that Halloween night, the first person at the scene was Sirius Black. My godfather.”

There was a sharp intake of breath.

“He picked up the baby in the crib and as his legal guardian, he was eligible to claim guardianship. He would’ve if it wasn’t for Pettigrew.”

Harry let his head fall on top on Draco’s head, his chin brushing the silky strands. He wondered, idly, if it would feel soft running through his fingers.

“The rat betrayed Lily and James and, always the Gryffindor, Sirius went after him. He chased him around the country until he finally cornered the rat in a muggle street. Sirius confronted him but Pettigrew kept yelling about how _Sirius_ betrayed my parents and how _Sirius_ was the Secret Keeper. When wands were drawn, Pettigrew saw no way out. He was terrible at duelling and the Blacks were well known for their nastier curses and their rule for enemies – _No Mercy_. The rat instead blew up the street, cut off his own finger and scurried into the sewers in his Animagus form. The Aurors arrived and seeing Sirius Black cackling his head off in a crater of destruction, it was clear to them who was guilty. He was tossed into Azkaban without a trial and because of the martial law in place at the time, it wasn’t required. Whilst Sirius was warming his bed in Azkaban, Peter Pettigrew had found a nice wizarding family that was poor enough to not think it strange that a rat was missing a toe. He was able to keep up with the news and if he had to become a guinea pig in Transfiguration from time to time, well, that was just a small price.”

Harry laughed bitterly.

“I _knew_ Sirius was innocent and I remember _wanting_ to prove him innocent and then suddenly, I couldn’t remember a fucking _thing_ about the man. It was like… he was just another faceless stranger off the street. Someone _fucking_ _obliviated_ me.” Harry paused, pushing his anger aside, and said softly, “As soon as I looked at the rat, I knew who he was and _what he did_. I wanted to _crucio_ him. I wanted to make him _scream_. I could’ve. Oh, I _could’ve_ alright, but that would get me locked up into the cell next to Sirius, so I used his Mark and asked the snake to cause him pain instead. Dumbledore dragged me up to his office and told me about… _a_ prophecy… and then, here we are.

“I’ve always been able to talk to snakes. Setting a python on your cousin tells you can talk to snakes pretty well,” Harry said wryly.

The silence was broken by Theo as he barked out a laugh, head falling back and body melting into the armchair, “Merlin, Harry. You clearly don’t do things by half.”

“Mhm,” Pansy continued, “Hunted by a Dark Lord, targeted by a possessed professor, mass-murderer for a godfather. What next? Killing a basilisk?”

Harry laughed awkwardly.

Pansy’s eyes widened. “No way! A _basilisk_?! Darling, I’m going to have grey hair when I’m fifteen at this rate.”

Blaise swatted her playfully. “We’ve just discovered that out best friend’s killer godfather is innocent and all you can worry about is grey hair?”

Pansy looked affronted. “I’ll have you know that grey hair is a serious problem.”

“Not for Draco,” Theo said with a smirk, “Lucius is getting older y’know. I bet his hair’s half grey already.”

Draco looked insulted as he sniffed. “Malfoys do not turn _grey_.”

“Oh yes,” Harry rolled his eyes, “How _plebeian_.”

“Exactly!”

“Sometimes I wonder if one of those peacocks is _Lucius_ in his Animagus form.”

Blaise snorted. “I went to Malfoy Manor for one of those little get togethers your mother planned when I was five and I spent half the afternoon crying and running away from those beasts. Let me tell you that running away from birds with sharp beaks and long legs is a horrible experience. I climbed a tree and wouldn’t come down until mother stunned them all.”

“Absolute gold,” Theo muttered, a grin splitting his face, “I can imagine little baby Zabini running as fast as his chubby little legs can carry him, screaming bloody murder as Lucius Malfoy in his Animagus form tries to mangle his leg.”

A peacock painting appeared on the wall as Pansy cackled loudly, “Look at that! Even the room wants to embarrass you!”

Blaise flushed, sinking lower into his seat, “Fuck _off_ , _all_ of you.”

“No worries, mate,” Theo said as he slapped him on the back, “I’m sure that story of Draco crying to Narcissa that he was being chased by a dragon takes the bill.”

It was Draco’s turn to moan in embarrassment, unconsciously burrowing further into Harry.

“What’s this about a dragon?” Pansy perked up with a teasing grin.

Theo steepled his fingers and grinned at them all.

“Right, so, little Draco wakes up in the middle of the night and sees a dragon hovering over him, yeah? Turns out it was just a really ugly House-elf but Draco went tearing through the manor screaming for mummy and daddy that a welsh green was after him…”

Harry smiled as he relaxed, the flickering fire casting a sweet golden glow over the five of them. Draco was tucked into his side; Pansy was leaning against Blaise and Theo was sitting cross-legged by the hearth. They hadn’t forgot what he’d said earlier. It was in the slight rigidness of Theo’s spine and the minute downturn of Pansy’s mouth, but they were all trying to be the best friends they could be and that was all Harry could ever hope for.

He settled back into the armchair, laughing when Theo continued his tale of embarrassment on Draco and letting tranquillity ease his limbs.

They really _were_ the best friends he could’ve asked for.

**\---**

Staring at the sink with the snake engraved on the faucet, Harry let the silky folds of his Invisibility Cloak wrap around his shoulders and ruffle his hair. Myrtle was moaning a few toilets away, wailing about ‘miserable, moping, _moaning_ Myrtle’ like she wanted to _cry_ herself to death – oops; she’s already dead – Harry smirked at his own humour – so it was only Harry and his hope that the stupid Chamber would open.

He could still remember the grim determination that filled him like a blazing flame as he and Ron shoved Lockhart down the pipe headfirst and slid down afterwards. He’d drawn the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat and stabbed Slytherin’s monster like he did it every week. This time, however, he wasn’t heading to his doom and killing basilisk. No, this was much worse. He was going to _reason_ with a basilisk.

The shrunken collection of cows and rabbits in his pocket burned guiltily as Harry took a breath and hissed, “ _Open_ ,” glad as fuck that the mandrake leaf was sitting in a phial in the middle of the Forest and not attached to the roof of his mouth. Speaking Parseltongue with a leaf in his mouth made him sound like old snake-face Voldemort on crack or someone who smoked gillyweed.

The sink clicked.

It slid open.

Harry grinned and without looking back, he jumped into the pipe, shouting an exhilarated, “ _Close_!” after him.

It was that same feeling of rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. He could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as his, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, and he knew that he was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons. Light flared from the tip of his wand as a cushioning charm shot from the tip to wait for him at the bottom of the pipe.

The pipe levelled out drastically all of sudden and then Harry was spat out onto the floor, bouncing as if on a mattress. Harry let out a delighted breath before pushing himself out, his hair feeling even more windswept than usual.

He rose to his feet, igniting a _Lumos_ and glancing around at the grimy cavern. He’d have to clean it up at some point. Salazar Slytherin’s legendary chamber shouldn’t smell worse than London’s _sewer_.

Animal bones crunched underfoot as he carefully moved forward, senses on high alert. The poisonous green of the shed skin caught Harry’s eye and he frowned. It seemed a waste to have such priceless resources wasting away when the skin could be used to make impenetrable armour. He did have the Tri-wizard tournament coming up in a year or two and basilisk armour woven in with featherlight runes and temperature charms…

Harry shook his head. An idea for another time. He’d write a letter to Narcissa later and ask if she knew a seamstress that could make what he wanted.

Soon, very soon, he came across the large circular door engrained with seven snakes who watched him with wine-red eyes – _Stand aside foolish girl, stand aside now!_ – but turned Killing Curse green – _not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!_ \- when he walked up to them.

“ _Open_ ,” he hissed, low and sensual.

Why Riddle chose to make himself sound like a patient with lung cancer, Harry didn’t know. If you were going to start hissing and spitting like a madman, at least make yourself sound pleasurable. Common sense must cost a _fortune_ these days.

The snakes slid away to reveal the Chamber within.

There were the statues that lined the walls to make way for a path like some perverse alter and the huge head and submerged shoulders of a statue of – who Harry presumed to be – Salazar Slytherin. The bloke looked like an ape, for crying out loud. Why anyone would make a statue of the man was beyond him.

It didn’t matter what Slytherin looked like though. Harry was just there to chat to his basilisk.

Fuck. Why did the Hat put him in Slytherin again?

Harry swallowed nervously and cleared his throat, wincing as the sound echoed around the chamber.

What was it Riddle said?

 _[“Now, Harry, I’m going to teach you a little lesson. Let’s match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against the_ famous _Harry Potter, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him…”]_

Harry drew a breath and let his eyes fall shut.

 _“Speak to me Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four_!”

There was the sound of stone grinding on stone, a hiss and then the smooth rustle of scales.

“ _Master_?” came a miserable hiss, “ _You are needing me again_?”

 _“I- ah, no_ ,” Harry said smoothly, screwing his eyes shut tighter and trying to resist his mind’s mocking whisper to open his eyes and sate his curiosity.

_I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die._

There was a great rasping hiss and then a slightly hopeful, “ _Speaker? There is another Speaker that is not Master_?”

Harry let out an uncertain hum.

“ _You smell like lightning and thunder, Little Speaker_. _Master smells like_ _hatchlings_ _and fruit._ ”

“ _Oh_. _I’m sorry for intruding in your home. I- well, I bought you lunch.”_

 _“Lunch_?” said the basilisk with a delighted hiss, “ _Did you bring juicy rabbits and fat mice, Little Speaker? Yes, I very much look forward to you becoming my new Master.”_

 _“New Master?”_ Harry inquired as he unshrunk the rabbits and lifted the statis charm. They skittered, the basilisk’s mighty jaws clamping around one mid-air. Harry winced.

“ _Oh yes, Little Speaker. You smell like you defeated Master in what you two-leggers call a ‘duel’ so you can claim his line and become Master and one of those foolish Lords that Master used to speak so greenly of.”_

Harry could’ve hit himself. He defeated Voldemort as a baby and four times as a teenager therefore giving him the right to claim his line and become Lord Slytherin, banishing Voldemort from the ‘noble’ family. Oh the bastard wouldn’t like _that_.

“ _Why do you serve your Master if you don’t like him?”_

Harry couldn’t see the basilisk, but by the slide of the scales, he could tell it was closer. _Definitely_ closer, he thought as a bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck.

“ _I am bound to_ _serve Master Salazar’s line, Little Speaker. Master Salazar wished for me to protect the two-leggers from the other two-leggers whilst Master Godric’s lazy lizard got rid of the other two-leggers.”_

Harry hummed, frowning lightly.

“ _Little Speaker, why are your eyes closed? My gaze cannot harm a Speaker.”_

 _“Oh,”_ Harry muttered stupidly and blinked, glancing at those yellow eyes and waiting for the stiffness to settle into his limbs.

It never happened.

Harry grinned. He could look at a _basilisk_ and not die. Brilliant!

The acidic green scaled glistened in the dim lighting and Harry could really appreciate the beauty of the giant snake.

_“What’s your name?”_

_“Name? Is that what you two-leggers give each other? I do not have one.”_

_“I’ll give you a name, then.”_ Harry said in determination, sinking to the floor and crossing his legs, wand lying next to him on the floor. The basilisk slid forward a few inches so it – _he? she?_ – was coiled loosely around him. Harry let his fingers slide over the smooth scales, marvelling as they shone.

_“Hm, How about Kayar?”_

The basilisk’s nose flared in displeasure _. “It sounds like a lady hatchlings name.”_

_“Oh! You’re a boy then? Well, alright then. How about Monty?”_

_“No,”_ the snake said flatly.

Harry pouted at him.

“ _I would call you Nagini just for the irony, but that’s a girl’s name and not good enough for a king of snakes-“_ Harry hid a grin when the basilisk preened, “- _how about Jörmungandr?”_

 _“Jörmungandr,”_ the basilisk repeated slowly, “ _What does it mean, Little Speaker_?”

 _“Well,”_ Harry said _, “Some people say it means the unending life, others say it was the name of a mighty serpent that protected the sea.”_

_“Jörmungandr. Yes, I like it. Thank you, Little Speaker.”_

_“I’ll call you Jormy for short, my favourite snake.”_

_“Mm, alright then. Master is still Master and I must obey him, but I will try not harm the magical little two-legger hatchlings. Master Salazar would be upset, Little Speaker.”_

_“Don’t worry Jormy. I’ll get rid of Master so you can be free again.”_

Harry stroked his scales and another cunning scheme began forming in the back of his mind.

The name he gave the wandmaker in Knockturn… why shouldn’t that be his alias for when he sells the goods in the Room of Requirement? He could set up a whole different personality… after he burned the Ministry records connecting the Potters to the Peverells. He would owl Narcissa about the shed skin later. When the Death Eaters resurfaced with their acts of terrorism again, Hadrian Peverell could… take _care_ of it. Harry felt a wide smile crack his face as his eyes burned with the beauty of an _Avada Kedavra_.

He would have to let Riddle petrify half the school and then confront him in the Chamber, strip him and Voldemort’s wraith of their connection to the Slytherin line and then take a trip to Gringotts.

It was felt good to be bad.

**\---**

Two days later, climbing the steps to the Owlery, letter in hand, Harry smiled carelessly. Tomorrow was the first Quidditch match of the season – Gryffindor versus Slytherin – and Flint had obviously been feeling nice. The team had spent the whole day in the Room of Requirement, lounging in a large hot tub, cracking dirty jokes that had Harry cackling, or splashing each other like idiots. Of course, the rest of the house heard of the impromptu pool party and the whole of Slytherin – first though to the seventh – played in a large pool the room generously provided, the Quidditch team staying in their hot tub and supplying eye-candy.

Harry’d tackled Draco under the water only to find that strange feeling he was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion on warming his blood. He’d always remember the moment all sound slowed and it was just them pressed together, eyes locked, until Harry grinned and bubbles flew out of his mouth and they emerged spluttering and laughing above the surface.

It had been amazing because Snape somehow found out where they were – Harry’s money was on the house-elves – and he and Dumbledore just stood there, the Headmaster’s eyes twinkling brightly and Snape scowling mulishly, until some brave soul sent a pistol of water at the dungeon bat and everyone laughed and the shrill shrieks and splashing resumed.

Slytherins weren’t known for their wild parties for nothing.

It was so fucking brilliant, fuelling many patronuses to come.

Hedwig flew to greet him, nipping his ear affectionately as she ruffled her snowy wings and gave him a _look_ that clearly demanded why he hadn’t sent her away with any letters that year.

Harry shrugged helplessly and stroked her breast as she liked it, feeding her a stunned mouse as an apology.

“Sorry girl. How’ve you been?”

Hedwig hooted grumpily.

Harry’s lip twitched before he flattened it. “I’ve got a letter for Narcissa Malfoy. Think you can get it there quickly?”

She gave him an affronted look, fluffing her wings pointedly.

“Alright, alright. Who’s a clever girl? Who’s a clever girl? You’re a clever girl, _yes_ _you_ _are_.”

She smacked his with a wing as he rubbed the back of his head and shot her a playful glare. “Down girl. Maybe I should get a kneazle…”

Hedwig bit his ear lightly.

“Merlin, _sorry_. Fussy girl, you are.”

He tied the letter to her outstretched talon and grinned. “Go on then, Hedwig. Take it to Auntie Cissa.”

With one last hoot, Hedwig stretched her wings and launched herself off his arm, soaring out of the open window and flying off into the air.

Harry watched her until she was a tiny prick in the distance, thinking of Narcissa’s reaction when she opened his letter and saw a shrunken box filed with basilisk skin.

Priceless.

**\---**

Narcissa startled as a hoot came from the window, frowning slightly as she saw Harry’s darling owl. The boy never wrote no matter how many times she reminded him he could. The poor dear should have someone to write to even though his parents weren’t alive to do so. He was so smitten with her little dragon and the poor boy didn’t even realise! Narcissa remembered her and Lucius in school…

Shaking her head with a small smile, Narcissa put aside the book she was reading and unlatched the window, watching as the snowy owl flapped in and dropped the letter neatly on the table, flying over to the perch they had installed for birds and lapping up the water.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at the letter addressed for, ‘Aunt Cissa’ and smiled. She really did like Harry. Such a sweet boy, he and Draco were like her and Lucius in school…

She opened the letter-

A box fell out of the envelope and unshrunk itself.

Narcissa glanced between the box and the letter before her curiosity got the better of her and she opened the box-

“ _LUCIUS_!”

She screamed, scrambling – _elegantly_ , definitely elegantly– backwards.

The door banged open, Lucius standing there with his wand out and frantic eyes.

“ _What_?!”

Speech evaded her as she pointed at the box.

Lucius moved forward slowly, cautiously prodding the lid with his wand, peering in before lunging back. “What- what’s that dearest?!” He asked, voice two octaves higher than usual.

Narcissa searched for the letter, eyes widening at the sheer _cheekiness_ of the boy. Oh, but she still loved him like he was her own, as did Lucius.

Wordlessly, she handed him the letter.

_Dearest Aunt Cissa,_

_I imagine that as you’re reading this, you’re either confused, terrified or angry – maybe all of the above – let me explain. Thanks to Uncle Lucius’ rash,_ Gryffindor _decision – shame on you, Uncle Lucius, shame on you – the Chamber of Secrets has been opened (enemies of the heir beware). As I should’ve said, I’m a Parselmouth and as such, the only, non-possessed, snake charmer in the school. I went on a trip to the Chamber a few days ago and had a nice chat with the basilisk and he gave me permission to use his shed skin as I wished._

_I’m writing to you, Aunt Cissa, because I’d like to make an outfit out of dear Jormy’s – the basilisk’s- beautiful scales and no one knows clothes like you. Tell Uncle Lucius I’ll deal with his missing diary and no evidence will be pinned on him._

_Could you get the basilisk armour laced with temperature adjusting runes, size adjusting runes, and colour adjusting runes? I can do the rest, I should think. Did Uncle Lucius take Runes? If he did I wanted to discuss a record-breaking theory I had with him. You know me well enough to know exactly what I want made with the skin, Aunt Cissa. Also, if Draco writes to you about a bit of memory loss, don’t worry, it was me. Tom Riddle possessed him through our artefact but I’ve taken care of everything._

_I’m sure you’ve heard of Pettigrew being discovered and Sirius getting a trial. I just wanted to let you both know that I’ll be testifying for him._

_Sorry for the scare, Cissa._

_Thank you,_

_Harry_

“That boy’s going to be the death of me,” Narcissa muttered as she peeked inside the box again.

Yes, she had the perfect woman for the job.

Whilst Narcissa poked and prodded, Lucius gaped, grabbing the letter and mouthed incredulously ‘basilisk’.

Thank Merlin he had darling Cissy to keep him in check.

A basilisk-

Merlin’s balls he was finally glad he’d graduated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Yes, this was 6,000 words.


	9. The Unexpected Quidditch Incident and an Accidental Introduction

_**IX. And Death came to me in the form of a man** _

When Harry stepped out of the bathroom, wriggling his hand into his glove, he didn’t expect to see Pansy, Draco, Hermione, Theo _and_ Blaise all sat on Draco’s bed, laughing so hard they were crying whilst the blond covered his face in embarrassment.

Harry finished sliding on his other glove, flexed his fingers, and smirked slightly as he saw the magazine tossed on the floor.

Draco always did become embarrassed when they talked about sex.

Harry’d only done it once and that was when he was sixteen and he thought he was finally a ‘man’ because he shagged a bird. Seamus bragged of his conquests all the time; everyone had taken to entering the Gryffindor Sixth Year dorm with earmuffs on whilst Seamus gave loud advice on how to ‘please your lady’ or ‘bang your bird’. Harry was such a blushing virgin back then it wasn’t even funny.

Shaking his head, Harry covered a grin.

What did surprise him though, was that Hermione was there. Harry’d hardly seen her since last year as she’d been hanging out with a bunch of Ravenclaws a lot. It was a welcome surprise though; Pansy was going mad without any female company.

“Shove off you lot,” Harry said with a teasing smirk, “Leave the poor boy alone.”

Theo cackled, like a full-blown _cackle_ , “Have you seen how red he goes? I want to see if he’ll _combust_!”

Draco groaned, blond hair falling free and covering his eyes.

Harry’s heart missed a beat.

He swallowed.

“We were just discussing what girls Draco’s into, y’know? Apparently,” Blaise grinned, “he likes _gingers_.” 

The beast in his chest growled, low and angry.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, brow furrowing and fingers twitching.

[ _It was as though something large and scaly erupted into life in Harry’s stomach, clawing at his insides: Hot blood seemed to flood his brain, so that all thought was extinguished, replaced by a savage urge to jinx Dean into a jelly. Wrestling with this sudden madness, he heard Ron’s voice as though from a great distance away_.]

He took a step back as if physically struck, forcing himself to swallow as his throat became dry.

Oh Merlin.

He was- _He_ _fancied_ _his best mate_.

He wasn’t ill. That warm feeling that burst from his chest and spread through his limbs wasn’t a sudden illness or a peculiar sense of sickness; it was whatever he felt for Draco. The way he craved touching Draco’s pale skin and the way he looked at lips too long…

_[“-what girls Draco’s into, y’know? Apparently he likes gingers.”]_

Burning jealousy clawed its way up Harry’s throat. He couldn’t stay there. He couldn’t stay and listen to how much he fancied some red-haired girl. Besides, he still had that bet of Theo and Blaise’s to win and to do that, he required a girlfriend.

He forced a smile on his face and slid on the outer robe with the massive serpent twisting everywhere and his number displayed proudly on the back. He locked up every thought of Draco and pushed it firmly to the back of his mind, letting a web of threads cover it up. The game was in two hours. Slytherin versus Gryffindor. He’d go meet Flint. No need to wallow in misery and sulk all day.

“That’s nice,” he made himself say, his voice ringing hollow to even his own ears.

He saw Hermione’s smile slowly fall off her face and a frown take over before she looked up in understanding.

“I’ve- I’m- see you all after the match.”

Harry hurried from the room, not even pausing as he heard Theo say behind him,

“Gingers aren’t that bad, are they?”

**\---**

Harry glanced at his new Nimbus Two Thousand and One and squashed down the quiver of guilt he felt for leaving his Two Thousand behind. Lucius had obviously been feeling generous and gifted the whole team the newest brooms on the market. At least Harry would have a spare if one of his brooms broke. They did look good, sleek black wood and silver clippings, against their uniform, rich emerald and sparkling silver.

Harry hadn’t been able to look at Draco without his stomach turning with guilt and that painful warmth he was labelling ‘desire’. He died when he was seventeen and here he was, twelve again, and fancying his best friend _who was still a child._ But Harry swallowed it down and used an unhealthy amount of Occlumency to shove it aside. A good game of Quidditch would sort him out. He’d leave his jumble of feelings on the ground and when the game finished and he touched down, he’d have locked his less-than-platonic feelings away until he could look Draco in the eye again without feeling heat crawl up his neck.

Hermione had hugged him good luck with a knowing smile before following Pansy into the Slytherin stands. She’d apparently abandoned House pride in favour of supporting them. It didn’t matter though; she was practically an honorary Slytherin anyway with the amount of time she spent in their common room.

Flint stood abruptly, climbing onto the makeshift stand they’d made in the changing room. His crooked teeth split into a grin as he looked around at them all. After a rigorous training schedule, involving twenty laps around the field a day until they were just green blurs in the sky, Slytherin had become the best team out there. The betting pools were slanting majorly in their favour – just the other day, Harry’d caught Blaise and Theo in the common room yelling about fortune and galleons and raking in the cash – and with the whole team riding the best brooms the league had rode in decades, it was a no-brainer who would win. Snape’s smug smirk hadn’t left all week every time he glanced at McGonagall. Further slanting in Slytherin’s favour, the Weasley twins had been caught sneaking into the forest by Snape and banned from playing in the match, leaving Gryffindor frantically scrambling to find replacement Beaters. To the amusement of the snakes, Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas were chosen. Most of the Slytherins were on good terms with Fred and George, but no one could stand Ron for his obvious bigotry against those that wore green.

“We have the best brooms,” Flint began, “We have the best players. We have the best chance at winning. We’ve trained nonstop, rain and shine-“ (“Too fucking true,” Warrington muttered to Bletchley, “I haven’t been properly dry since _September_ “) “And we’re going to win because Slytherins win by-“

“ _Any means necessary_ ,” The team said in unison, sharing mutual eye rolls.

“Yes, by any means necessary. I don’t care if that means you have to jump from eighty feet or smack Wood off his broom. We’ll win because we have the best Chasers-“ he nodded to Draco who preened like a peacock, “-the best Beaters-“ Boyle grinned, “-the best Keeper-“ Bletchley smiled slightly before going back to marvelling at his broom, “and the best Seeker we’ve ever had!” Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips turning into an amused smirk as his eyes gleamed in determination.

“Potter, you get the snitch or you die trying.”

( _Flint didn’t really mean it literally_. _He should’ve said_.)

“’Course Flint. Who’d you take me for?”

Boyle snorted.

Flint rolled his eyes and ruffled Harry’s hair. “Fuck off, Potter. And no Firewhiskey tonight. Last time you and Nott got a hold of it, I spent the night trying to explain to Snape why a Firstie was found sloshed on the second floor and trying to chat up Moaning Myrtle.”

Warrington snickered, eyes sparkling wickedly, “Myrtle could use some action- Imagine it, being a ghost and not being able to shag anyone for eternity. Adrian would go spare trying to get it up-“

Adrian walloped him around the head, even though he was grinning too. “Piss off, mate. _You_ can’t get it up and you’re still alive.”

“How would you know, Pucey?”

Adrian gave him a lecherous grin, “You need to work on your silencing charms, brother. D’you know how many nights I’m woken up by-“

“Alright! Alright! We get the idea!” Draco exclaimed, blushing as Flint leaned over him with his crooked teeth.

“Don’t worry little Malfoy. Your dad’ll be giving you The _Talk_ over the summer and then you’ll be able to join in with all the _big boy_ conversations.”

Draco flushed to the roots of his hair in mortification. “Please, _please_ , can we not talk about it anymore? _Please_?”

Bletchley cackled, jumping to his feet and thumbing the shiny inscription on his broom handle. “C’mon then, Malfoy. Let’s go spill some lion blood.”

A cheer rand through the room as they all strode from the changing rooms and to the pitch. Flint lead with his broom turned in a way that it caught the light, Harry following with a wild smile on his face as the contagious atmosphere of adrenaline and excitement swept into his bones.

They fell into their semi-circle formation around Hooch as Flint and Wood tried to break each other’s fingers under the guise of a handshake. The cheers of the crowd played in his ears as Hooch blew her whistle.

“On my whistle,” said Madam Hooch, her bright yellow eyes watching them vividly. “Three… two… one…”

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than all of them, eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he glanced around for the snitch.

Ron Weasley hurtled past, bat swinging wildly as cruel blue eyes – _that’s not Ron. That’s not his Ron_ \- locked on Harry’s.

“All right there, Potter?” He yelled viciously, mouth down turning into a nasty sneer worthy of any Malfoy.

Harry didn’t dignify him with a response as he ducked a bludger that rocketed towards him, spiralling higher into the sky as Weasley swore and Boyle batted it furiously away into the direct path of Katie Bell.

It stopped before it reached her though and shot back towards Harry.

Boyle frowned as he flew side by side with him, bat swinging madly as the bludger boomeranged back towards Harry.

It was being annoyingly persis-

Harry’s eyes narrowed into slits as his eyes changed direction and instead of the sky, he looked towards the stands. There was Pansy and Hermione cheering and chatting, Theo busy staring at some blonde girl sitting beside him and Blaise grinning at Bulstrode… Now where was-

 _Dobby_!

The little bugger was hovering by the changing rooms, wide green eyes fixed on the bludger chasing him.

Harry breathed out slowly. Alright, so he had a mad elf trying to knock him off his broom and a demented bludger on his tail. Boyle was needed down with the rest of the team, and if the bludger was going to get him, it was going to get him. Harry swallowed down his uncertainty and turned to Boyle, shouting over the wind, “Go! I’ll deal with it!” and shaking his head sharply when he went to protest. Reluctantly, he flew off again and Harry took a breath-

Flattened himself against his broom-

And took off.

The wind whipped at his hair, his robes flew out behind him and he could hear the bludger whistling after him, but never had he felt so alive as he did in that moment, spiralling and weaving and evading. He caught Dobby’s bulging eyes out of the corner of his vision just as the bludger went for his head. He ducked, practically twining himself around the broom until he was just an emerald blur against the sky.

“And it’s Slytherin leading with sixty points to nought-“

He pulled up, twisting away from the heavy bludger and scouting the skies for the snitch. There was the flash of a gold wristwatch and a glint of a Gryffindor banner and-

There it was! By Weasley’s ear!

But he’d stayed still for too long and the bludger smashed against Harry’s left forearm. His face twisted in pain as a hiss broke his lips, but no matter. He’d faced worse. He’d stared down the end of a cruciatus and survived, he’d survived Dudley’s meaty fists and Petunia’s harsh lashings. What was a broken bone compared to watching your godfather die before your eyes?

Gasps ran through the crowd as Lee’s voice washed over the stadium.

“And that’s one nasty bludger! Flint to Warrington- hang on – what’s this? Potter’s seen the snitch!”

Harry saw it, right there, hovering by Draco.

He shot off, broken arm cradled against his robes and other arm outstretched-

His hand closed around the snitch-

Just as the bludger smashed into his back.

There was a horrifying crack that echoed around the pitch, and in that moment, time slowed.

Harry’s eyes connected with Draco’s just as the blond reached out a desperate hand to pull him up. It was too late. He slid slowly to the side, and then he was falling.

It was like everything was being said underwater. Muffled screams brushed against his ear as the Quidditch team dived to catch him. They were too late. Harry reached out for Draco – there was so much he needed to say, so many words that would never be spoken – _I love you, I’ve always loved you_ – but his grip wasn’t strong enough. He fell, tumbling through the sky as jets of spells missed him by sheer millimetres. The ground rushed to meet him and still, Harry stared at Draco, eyes saying words he’d never speak.

His body slammed into the ground, and the last thing he thought was that his neck was never supposed to twist at that angle.

The world went

B

L 

A 

C 

K

**\---**

White.

Everything was white.

It was blinding.

Not vengeful red or jaded green, but white. The white that created stars and shapes and colours beneath the heel of his palm, like a rainbow drained of colour. The white of Dumbledore’s beard as the sun shone on it, like candyfloss. The white of the primmed feather of the Malfoy’s peacocks, like starlight. It was all white, but as Harry blinked, stunning green eyes distorted the blankness until when he blinked again, his surroundings had shifted to something familiar.

Gringotts. How odd.

He glanced at himself, unable to muster any emotion when he saw he was naked. He wished for clothes and a hint of a smile crossed his face when he saw his favourite leather jacket – the one Pansy bought him for Christmas the previous year – and his most violent pair of ripped jeans. It seemed that repressing someone’s sense of fashion for years lead to rebellion in the form of the most ‘bad boy’ clothes made. Idly, Harry made note to get his ears pierced in the summer and wear those radish earrings Luna gave him.

He slipped into his clothes, smiling slightly as he saw his thick combat boots appear in front of him. He pushed the doors open and frowned vaguely when there were no goblins behind the desks. You’d of thought the people that _ran_ the bank would be _at_ the bank.

Something niggled in the back of his mind, something important.

Why was he at Gringotts? Wasn’t he supposed to playing Quidditch?

Strange.

He walked on the grey marble floor, frown deepening as his shoes made no noise. His eyes rose from floor to ceiling, pausing on the glistening chandelier and lingering on the cracks that appeared on the ground where his feet had touched. Confusion broke through his hazy emotional state. Why was he at the bank? Why was no one there when it was the middle of the day and the middle of the week?

Harry moved cautiously towards the desk he usually went to, examining the bell and hesitating before-

 _Riingg_.

“Oh, hello th- Harry?”

Harry startled, head snapping up and eyes flashing like a skittish animal.

He took a step back, eyes going wider by the minute.

A man sat behind the desk. He was tall and lithe, face aristocratic with high cheekbones and pale porcelain skin. His eyes were the exact same shade as the Killing Curse, cold but warm at the same time, the beginning and the ending. He wore a strange shimmery cloak that shifted in the light as an obsidian ring glinted on his finger. A wand was tucked up his sleeve; Harry could just make out a thin, knotted piece of wood before it disappeared again. His hair were like feathers, sticking up at all angles but in a refined way, like controlled chaos. Something about him whispered safe, but another part lowly said he was too inhuman, too beautiful, too _strange_ -

He looked like-

He looked like an older Harry Potter.

“Hello Harry! It’s nice to see you!” the weird Harry-Potter-look-alike said brightly, holding out a gloved hand.

Harry took a step back. Stared. “ _What_.”

“I know! Let me tell you that collecting souls in Florida and then being whisked back to the in-between, well, it _can_ get a bit confusing.”

“ _What_.”

The man-that-was-not-Harry looked closer at him. “Oh! How dreadfully rude of me! I’m Death, Harry. It’s nice to meet you at last.”

If Harry had a fully working set of emotions, he might’ve fainted by now. A such, all that happened was that an odd, strangled noise tore from his throat as he goggled at the offered hand.

“ _Death_? As in, _the_ Death?!” 

The man – _Death_ – huffed, “Is there _another_ Death that I don’t know about? I swear, if that wanker, what’s his name, ah yes, ‘ _Flight from death’_ has given himself _another_ title-“

“No! No! He’s- Voldemort’s still dead at the moment.”

Death looked a little put out. “What a shame. I haven’t knocked a Dark Lord around in a few centuries. Dreadfully boring, you know.”

Harry tried to look as understanding as possible whilst he looked for an exit.

“I accidentally blew up Colombia the other day when me and Life were – how do you youngsters say it again? – ‘ _in the throes of passion’_ -“

Harry decided to ignore the passion bit and focus on the fact that there were more of the creep wearing his face.

“Wait, wait! There’s a Life around here?”

Death looked at him as if he were a particularly dumb child. “Of course there is, Harry! You can’t have Death without Life. Honestly, what do they teach kids these days?”

“Er-“

“Don’t torture the poor boy, Death.” Someone laughed, warm and melodious, “He needs to go back soon.”

A woman with silky blonde hair and kind blue eyes materialised at Death’s side. She smiled gently at him, tucking her hair behind her ears and revealing certain earrings that Harry would know anywhere-

“ _Luna_!” He blurted, “What’re you doing here?”

Her eyes became wistful, her eyes turning from blue to silver. “It’s been many years since I have been called that name.” She looked airily into the distance before she seemed to focus.

She turned to death, disapproval on her face as she raised an eyebrow at him. “The others heard we have a visitor. They want to meet him.”

Death’s face twisted into a grimace.

Luna’s – or the elder version of Luna, whoever she was – face softened. “You know you can’t keep up this petty feud with Chaos forever. Life’s getting exasperated and you remember what happened last time.”

Death winced, paused before heaving out a dramatic sigh. “Call the others then. I’ll apologise to Chaos when no one’s around to witness my humiliation.

Luna smiled and turned, her sunshine summer dress turning with her as her hair floated in a light breeze behind her.

Death pulled his feet onto the desk – with a sinking feeling in his gut, Harry saw he wore heavy boots just like he did – and leaned back against his chair, looking like one of those characters in one of those dramatic stage-plays that monologue to themselves.

Harry stood awkwardly, mind still trying to wrap around the fact that Luna – an older Luna, whatever – was there and the bloke that was wearing Harry’s face called himself ‘Death’.

He’d died, hadn’t he? Was he dead?

A bell chimed somewhere in the distance. Death sat up, grinned brightly at Harry, and got to his feet, the room dissolving around them into the Slytherin common room. Harry blinked at the familiar surroundings, before he frowned at the random objects he didn’t recognise. It was definitely the common room – nowhere else had _that much_ green – but there was something… sharper to it. Somethings that Harry recognised from 1996.

He settled into his favourite armchair by the fire, dazedly seeing Death sit on his left, sprawled across his chair like he _owned_ it. Harry was _so_ jealous.

A strange noise, like a gong, reverberated around the room and then suddenly six people were sitting around the fire on the other chairs. It was simply- one minute it were empty, the next they were there.

A tall blond man blinked as he shifted in his seat, bright grey eyes softening the minute they found Death’s. Their hands laced together, Death’s gloved hand such a contrast to the blond man’s slender one. They were complete opposites – where Death was dark, he was light; where Death was pale, he was lightly tanned – but Harry couldn’t think of two people that fit each other more. Harry squirmed uncomfortably, feeling like he were intruding on a private moment.

A woman with coffee-coloured hair drawn into a bun and curls framing her face readjusted the quill tucked behind her ear and shifted the books in her hand until one leg was crossed over the other. Her caramel skin looked golden in the firelight as she smiled brilliantly at the dark-skinned man sitting beside her. She leant into his side, eyes falling shut as he laid his chin atop her head, smiling just like her.

Another man, curly chocolate hair and studded ears, glanced at the two sitting beside him – Luna and another woman with a glossy bob and cherry-red lips – and mimed gagging as he looked at the two couples. Harry was sure the man was the ‘Chaos’ that Death was fighting with. He looked like Theo, Harry thought with a steadily returning frown. Actually, they all looked like-

The tall blond man – _Draco_ – the woman with the books – _Hermione_ – the dark-skinned man – _Blaise_ – the woman with the bob – _Pansy_ – the man with the pierced ears – _Theo_ – the woman that looked like an older Luna – _actually_ Luna.

Harry slowly turned to look at Death.

That was- That was-

Harry shot to his feet, shaking his head madly and hardly even noticing when they all turned to look at him.

 _No way. No fucking way_ -

“Harry? What’s the matter?”

“The fuck are all you?” Harry gasped, wild eyes darting between them all, pleasantries forgotten.

Wasn’t he- Wasn’t he dead? He remembered quidditch and the bludger and Draco reaching for him and-

“Sit down, Harry. I was just going to introduce you.”

Harry turned to stare at Death – _himself_! – incredulously.

What the- _What the fuck_?

Death smiled obliviously and continued on blithely, “This is Life-“ older-not-Draco smiled, “-That’s Wisdom-“ not-Hermione waved, “-That’s Luck-“ not-Blaise dipped his head, “-That’s… _Chaos_ -“ cool-older-Theo saluted lazily, “That’s Fate, “ not-Pansy smirked sly, “and that’s Delirium.” Luna smiled brightly at him.

Harry collapsed back into his seat and held his head in his hands. First he somehow managed to break his neck in Quidditch and then he somehow got to Gringotts and met all his best friends but somehow they were all older and had different names.

“Why the fuck do you all have different names?” He croaked, so fed up with all the shit that had been piled on him again. There was only so many ‘surprises’ – and he used the term _loosely_ – he could take before he had a mental breakdown.

“Well,” Death said, “Life’s called Life because he’s the one that breathes life into the world; I’m called Death because I reap souls; Wisdom’s called Wisdom because she whispers new discoveries to the mortals; Luck’s called Luck because he decides what mortal to give extra help to; Chaos’ called Chaos because he lives to cause trouble – he also flirts with anything that’s got legs ; Fate’s called Fate because she makes everyone’s destinies and Delirium’s called Delirium because she sees things that others can’t.”

Death grinned with too many teeth. Harry got the feeling it was supposed to be reassuring.

He sighed, way too emotionally spent to summon any burning feelings. Whatever, he was dead anyway.

“…Why the fuck am I here?”

They all shared looks. Hermione – Harry supposed he should call her Wisdom – turned to him and spoke in her low, knowledgeable tone that always soothed him, “You’re here, Harry, because you died. You can’t properly die so you came here, to our realm, the in-between,” she smiled sadly, “You know who we are, who we once were. We were all like you once until we realised out destinies weren’t on the mortal plane. You’re here because we need to impart knowledge on you – an urgent message, if you would.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “You’re Death, Harry, but to become him, you need to learn certain magics. We all specialise in certain branches and we’re going to tell you what you need to achieve.”

Delirium smiled serenely, “Your friends will start learning too, an awakening, I think it’s called. They’ll start feeling afflictions for certain magics and their appearances will change subtly. Nothing too drastic; the nargles do need to eat, you know.” 

Death nodded sagely in agreement. “If you learn properly, you’ll be able to bring whole souls back from the dead and create an army of inferi surpassing any pathetic Mortal attempt. Runes and Blood magic are necessary, I’m afraid, as is Necromancy. Rituals are a must-learn too. Death Magic frequently demands a sacrifice.”

Life nodded. “The Room of Requirement should help. Oh, and also, do reunite the Hallows soon. You’ll never reach your full power without them.”

Luck checked his watch. “Oh fuck, look at the _time_. I told bloody Despair over in The Three’s realm that I’d help her with her fucking Champion. You best be heading back, Harry. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of everything for you. Terribly sorry for cutting this short.”

“Hang on-!“

“You won’t remember this, Harry, until you need to. Take care Little Death.”

“Wait-!“

But it was too late; a gloved hand was placed on his shoulder and suddenly the world was shrinking and turning and collapsing into one spinning tube and he was falling, falling, falling-

The world turned

W

H 

I 

T 

E

**\---**

_Pain_.

It _burned_.

His nerves were fraying, his neck was snapping his arms were breaking.

His mouth opened to scream but no sound came out.

No one would come.

Fire raced through his veins, boiling his blood and popping his arteries.

Pain.

It was too much.

The world went-

 ** _Black_**.

**\---**

_What’s the matter with him?!_

_Harry…. Harry… wake up… mate…_

_\- Sir, it’s a miracle he’s alive at all!_

_His heart…. beating… soul… alive…_

_Sorry, I’m sorry, come back, Harry, I can’t live without you-_

_Dobby is sorry Great Harry Potter. Dobby is not meaning to harms you._

_Come back to us, mate… Draco’s lost without you…._

_Please._

**\---**

Sound flooded his ears.

Muffled, like he was underwater.

He could feel fingers laced with his right hand and hair tickling his chin, a body pressed against his side and a wet patch on his shirt.

Panic receded to make way for comfort.

He hadn’t felt so relaxed since the summer holidays.

He had the vague sense he’d forgotten something….

His fingers twitched.

The person holding his hand shot up, a blurry outline of someone pale and blond leaning over him before he was being hugged to death.

The sounds were becoming clearer, the water draining from his ears…

Harry Potter sat up with a gasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is fucking weird and I had it all planned out to go in a whole different direction. I actually sat down with a notebook and a pen and meticulously mapped the whole thing out. Harry was going to get a pass to the Restricted Section and get the Potions book again and brew an Aging Potion. Everything was looking good until I randomly had this idea at three o'clock in the morning and my traitorous mind decided this was a brilliant Idea. Now I've completely spun this series on its head and set a path for the MC's. Sirius' trial was going to be next and Harry was going to show the Wizengamot what a BAMF he was but now I've got to delay that to make room for Harry's recovery and- eugh! Anyway, drop a comment! I love reading your reviews. Thank you all <3


	10. The Family of Slytherin and Sirius Black's Trial

**_X. With a heart like that, you deserve the world_ **

The Slytherins sat in tense silence.

Adrian Pucey bit his knuckles, face screwed up in worry as Lucian Boyle leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. Marcus Flint was hunched by the hearth, usually brash features tender with anguish. A group of Third Years sat in the corner of the common room, silent and still, bright faces dull and scared. Two First Years were huddling together with white faces, others considering writing to families and begging to go home. It wasn’t often that one of their own so finely walked the line between life and death.

Harry was known amongst the Slytherins as kind and compassionate but cold and ruthless when protecting others. He made friends with people no matter the House and overall, he _cared_ about others not just as an obligation. Many were told of a boy that attended Hogwarts many decades ago; A boy with beautiful features and sinful eyes who had magic pouring at his fingertips, always accompanied by a cruel smirk with too many sharp teeth. ‘ _He wore the face of an angel_ ,’ their forefather’s had said, _‘but he could never hide the devil within_.’ He had seven people that always fawned over him, seven, the most magical number. They’d heard the tales and listened as the boy grew into a man and the man grew into a monster. A monster with cold crimson eyes and scaly skin.

They’d heard the tales and heeded the warnings, but the boy that walked into the common room a year ago wasn’t like _him_. His eyes were knowledgeable, gleaming with truth and teeming with blackmail. A Fifth-Year girl used to sneer at him, hissing threats and – _we don’t want you here, filthy half-blood_ – whispering dirty truths until one day, she never bothered him again. She looked at him, paled, and trembled with terror. No one could get her to tell what happened, only a warning to _not mess with Potter._

Harry always sat by the fireplace with an easy smile, gentle and kind to anyone who needed help and open to chat and play exploding snap until his hair singed and he had to grow some of it back. He had five friends that sat by his side and they laughed and murmured way deep into the night, his green journal never far from him. He bore definite resemblance to _him_ , Parselmouth – if the rumours were to be believed – half-blood – hushed secret, that one – orphan – instant _Avada Kedavra_ on the spot. They were practically forged of the same metal, but where one chose cruelty, the other chose kindness.

Harry was the most Slytherin of them all and it was an inside joke amongst the snakes to call Harry and his ‘inner circle’ ouroboros’ because they were infinite in other eyes. It was hard to imagine a world without them in it, whether it be giggling quietly in the library or scheming in the common room.

Adrian ran a hand down his face, closing his eyes.

He had watched Harry fall, watched as his dubbed little brother got smashed off his broom by a tampered bludger _– “House-elf magic_ ,” Dumbledore admitted grimly – and collided with the ground and broke nearly every bone in his body. Everyone had thought he’d _died_ until someone had the sense to cast a diagnostic charm and it showed a weak heartbeat. Adrian would never forget the sight of Harry on the grass, legs bent at awkward angles, forearm crushed to pieces by the bludger and fingers crooked. His electric green eyes were open and glassy, staring at something they couldn’t see, hand outstretched as if reaching for someone. The younger Malfoy had got there before all of them, collapsing by his side and cradling Harry’s head in his lap, whispering and crying with his hair falling in his eyes and his arms around his best friend. The Granger girl – Hermione, the book worm that Warrington liked chatting Arithmancy with – had hurried over, tears clouding her eyes but casting healing charms that not even Seventh Years could do. Pomfrey said that it was she who kept him alive long enough. The whole House were willingly in her debt

A whole day half the staff at Hogwarts had done everything they could to save him. Harry’s spine had cracked but apparently – _miraculously_ – his own magic was healing him and hardly letting anyone help. A miracle, they said, and Rita Skeeter was having a field day with all the articles she’d been writing.

‘ _The Boy-Who-Lived Again_?’ was her favourite title and the Slytherins would’ve laughed if it wasn’t so sombre. The Cup had been cancelled for the year and hardly anyone protested. No one fancied playing Quidditch after watching a player plummet from the sky and needing twenty bottles of Skele-grow.

The Malfoy boy hadn’t left Harry’s side for days, curled up by his side and doing nothing but staring into space. The Lovegood – Loony, they called her. Adrian reserved judgement – girl had visited and stared at Harry before quietly saying, “See you soon, Harry,” like she knew exactly what was happening. The inner circle had hardly budged, not letting Pomfrey do her job because she ‘upset Harry’s magic’. They were the only ones that could get within a metre of him without getting blue lips and retreating because of the cold.

Adrian shook his head slowly, pretending he didn’t hear the quiet sob from in the corner. They were all taking it hard, constantly on edge.

The common room entrance slid open slowly and Professor Snape stepped through.

His sallow skin was pale, his eyes blood shot. His greasy hair was limp and tied in a loose bunch by his nape, his robes splashed with silvery liquid – potions probably. The whole room held its breath, watching him intensely and almost hanging off the edge of their seats.

Snape breathed out.

“Mr Potter’s just woken up.”

There was a second of pure silence and then the whole room erupted into relieved sighs and nervous laughter, wild – and just a little bit insane – grins splitting their faces.

It was alright.

He was going to be alright. 

**\---**

Harry sat up with a gasp, hacking up his lungs and coughing like a demon.

He could smell the faint aroma of lemons that accompanied the Hospital Wing and the blinding whiteness that made him think of Gringotts for some bizarre reason; his glasses were on the table next to him, but surprisingly, he could see just perfectly without them. His wand was there – _but something recoiled within him. Not his wand, not the Elder Wand_ – and a golden snitch with a bent wing, but what Harry really wanted was standing beside his bed with wide grey eyes.

Harry’s chapped lips stretched into a smile as he blinked the sleepiness from his eyes.

“Draco,” He whispered quietly.

Draco smiled shakily; Harry lifted his heavy arms and Draco burrowed in beside him, clutching Harry like he was about to disappear as soon as he let go. He tangled with Harry until he could no longer tell where one began and the other ended. His eyes closed in tranquillity, his raven hair falling in his shut eyes. A piece of him – _his very soul_ – that he didn’t even was restless, calmed, purring a content, ‘ _Home’_.

A breathy laugh fell from Harry’s lips like a breeze as he tightened his arms around his best friend.

“You’re my life, Draco.”

_You’ll never know how true that is._

Something stirred in his mind, a tall man with a light tan and sparkling grey eyes. It fled from Harry’s grasp as soon as it came.

He felt that wild cluster of emotions stirring from somewhere deep inside him, desire and fondness and complete _adoration_ and something else, something indescribable. It made his toes curl and his smile soften, his blood warm and the thing in his chest purr like a sated cat. It was strange to think that he woke up three days ago fretting over the fact Draco liked gingers and then the next minute, he was breaking nearly every bone in his body and dreaming of a group of strange people – _blurry-can’t-see-who-are-you_ – and Gringotts of all places. He felt, on some level, that he was missing something, but all he remembered was something about learning the Forbidden Arts.

Draco was his best friend – _twelve-years-old, Harry_ – and not to mention (probably) straight. He’d grow up and have cute little babies with some gorgeous woman and Harry’d be named godfather and be forced to watch as his object of desire – _Love of Your Life, Harry, don’t lie to yourself_ – married said gorgeous woman and fell in love with her and forgot all about poor old Harry that would be left in the dust. His throat did an odd wobbly thing like an egg had been forced up his windpipe as a sourly bitter – _jealous much, Harry?_ – feeling crawled into his mouth.

But the thing was, Harry would watch Draco skip off into the sunset with some random woman, if only it meant he were happy.

“You’re my _world_ , Harry,” Draco mumbled thickly, voice clouded with exhaustion.

Harry let his affection spiral as his whole body warmed and a small smile pulled at his lips.

He ran his hand through Draco’s hair like he always wanted to do, marvelling at the silkiness of the strands and humming a quiet song in his ear like his mother always did for him. It wasn’t before long that Draco went limp in his arms, chest slowing to a rhythmic rise and fall. Harry gently covered him with the duvet, sitting up gingerly and stretching out the sore muscles in his back.

He imagined he felt he’d been ran over by a pack of angry centaurs. Harry really didn’t want to snap his neck again if it felt like _that_. He flexed his fingers, wincing at the crack of the knuckles and massaging the cramps in his legs. Fuck getting trampled by centaurs; he felt like he was run over by the Knight Bus then it reversed and made way for a horde of angry hippogriffs.

He placed a foot on the cold floor, swaying at the sudden shift of gravity before he padded towards the window.

He watched the moon rise and fall, watched the sun peek out shyly from the horizon and only when Madame Pomfrey came bustling over, clucking about infuriating patients and the stress was going to land her an early grave, did he shake Draco gently awake and settle down, cross-legged, to catch up on recent events.

“What happened- after I- y’know…”

“Nearly died?”

Harry smiled sheepishly and ducked his head, “Yeah.”

Draco gave him a watery smile, running a hand through his thoroughly messed up hair. “It was- I was the first one to get to the ground and- and I’ll never forget how you looked, Harry. Your legs… and your _arms_ … it was- I thought you’d _died_ , you bloody wanker.”

Harry stayed silent.

“And- everyone was _crying_ until someone managed to find a braincell in their thick skulls and cast a charm and then- and then you were alive and Dumbledore just picked you up like you were _nothing_ \- and- I swear to Merlin, if you _ever_ do that to me again, I’ll shove you off the fucking Astronomy Tower.”

Draco let out a breath, slumping against the pillow, looking exhausted despite the solid twelve hours of sleep he had. “Hermione and the others couldn’t stay because it got too crowded so they voted to let me stay. Uncle Sev’s been brewing for the past three days non-stop because spells weren’t affecting you. Your magic’s stronger than others and according to the Healer that came in – it protected your body from outside influence whilst your bones knitted together. Sirius Black’s trial’s tomorrow-“

“What? _Tomorrow_?”

“Yeah. Mother said you wanted to testify and gave me a message to pass along.” He cleared his throat, a smile pulling at his lips, “ _’Tell that troublesome boy that his surprise made Lucius faint and that I’ll have it done by the holidays_. _Oh and I hope he’s alright and we’ll see him at Christmas_.’”

Harry jolted in surprise. “Christmas?”

“Yeah, Christmas,” he caught the look on Harry’s face and smiled in exasperation, “You didn’t really think we’d let you stay here over the break all alone, did you? Father thinks of you as an honorary Malfoy anyway and Mother’s always wanted another child to dote on.”

A lump formed in Harry’s throat.

 _Family_.

Narcissa and Lucius weren’t Lily and James, but to be considered family…

It wasn’t a feeling Harry could describe in mere words.

“Yeah,” He would deny even under Veritaserum that his voice cracked with emotion, “Yeah, alright. So what’s a Malfoy family Christmas like?”

Draco lit up and Harry was bombarded with stories of snow angles and snowmen, ice skating and cookie-making. Little five-year-old Draco woke up at four o’clock in the morning and tried to play out in the snow but Lucius caught him just as he was about to toddle out of the front door. Slightly older seven-year-old Draco was found under the tree, unwrapping his new broom by a bossy house-elf. Nine-year-old Draco made his parents frantic when they couldn’t find him. He jumped out of a huge present wrapped box an hour later, grinning but wondering why his father was screaming his head off.

It was an hour later when Draco ran out of steam. Harry’s head was filled with wonderous images of a small boy with wide grey eyes and fluffy blond hair and a tiredly amused Mr and Mrs Malfoy.

They sat quietly for a few moments, his foot pushing against Draco’s in a game of footsie.

Harry smiled lightly before it fell and a frown replaced it. “Did anything happen with the Chamber?”

A dark look jaded Draco’s bright eyes. “Creevey, the creep that kept trying to get pictures of you. He was found petrified outside the Wing. Dumbledore and Snape think he was trying to creep in and get a picture of you while you were asleep.”

Harry swallowed. As much as he didn’t like Colin Creevey, he didn’t want the git petrified. But then a hot surge of anger washed the guilt away and he scowled.

“Rita Skeeter’s been frolicking in all the galleons she’s making out of this whole-“ Draco flapped his hands about, “-fiasco. She called Dumbledore a ‘doddering old man that can’t cater for the next generation’ because he wouldn’t let her interview a few witnesses. Father’s guilty of something and he won’t tell me what. I mean, he sent me a letter yesterday and it was practically _drenched_ in guilt. Dobby’s been acting strangely and hitting himself every spare second he has. I tried stopping the bloody thing – what? I do listen to you and Hermione about house-elf cruelty – but he just kept bawling about mistakes and misdeeds and yad yada yada.”

Harry raised an amused eyebrow. “Seems like someone’s had a busy week.”

“You could say that.”

Harry glanced at his friend out of the corner of his eye, a mushy feeling rising in his chest when he saw Draco’s rumpled Quidditch robes and dishevelled hair.

“Go and have a shower, Draco. The only thing I’m going to die of at the moment is your stench. You go and catch up with the rest and I’ll prepare what I’m going to say for Sirius’ case.”

Draco nodded reluctantly and hesitated by the door, looking torn between raining cushioning charms on him or going for that shower and sorting out his hair that was probably driving him mental. Harry gave him an enliven smile and shooed him out the door, holding his grin until he rounded the corner and then flopping back onto his pillow.

Merlin, he lo- liked Draco, but man did he smother worse than a mother hen.

Harry glanced beside his bed and felt pleasantly surprised his schoolbag was there waiting for him. His wand was on the table, but although it were his favourite out of the three, the connection was feeble compared to what the Elder Wand would feel like. Reunited with its one true master at last. Harry sighed wistfully at the thought and tried to ignore the rip in his soul that _burned_ for the Hallows. His hands fumbled around in his bag, melting in relief as he made contact with the fluid silk of the Invisibility Cloak. He threw it around his shoulders, only mildly nonplussed to find that it didn’t render him invisible. He knew – on an instinctual level – that he was Master of the Hallows. They would always obey him and come to him when he needed them. 

He bought out his ever-lasting journal and that quill he bought down Knockturn, flipping through all the pages crammed with forbidden knowledge from the Room of Hidden Things. His eyes flickered over the information on Runes, shaking his head as his mind lingered. He’d look at his treasury later – he had a godfather to save.

He smoothed over a fresh page, dipping his quill in the ink and staring down at the page until it was like a dam had been broken and knowledge was being poured from his mind to his fingers and out of the nib of the quill.

It was an hour later Harry stopped writing. He _scourgify-_ ed the ink on his fingers, set the quill down and reread what he wrote. Nodding to himself, he blew on the page, watching as his slanted script grew messier as his thoughts started spinning faster. Harry hummed, watching Madame Pomfrey’s office and when he deduced that she wasn’t there, willed the Cloak invisible and snuck from the Hospital Wing, snatching his wand and after a hesitant second of debate, vanished his glasses with a quick, “ _Evenesco_.”

If he were a muggle, he’d have been stuck in medical observation for another year. That was one of the rare occasions that Harry believed wizards superior to muggles.

He made it to the dungeons without being caught, and as he hissed out an “ _Open_ ,” – benefits of being a Slytherin and a Parselmouth, Harry discovered. No more waiting around for the password – he watched the wall slide away to reveal the Slytherin common room.

All eyes swivelled towards him in varying shades of relief and delirious happiness.

Harry stepped forward, a hopeful look on his face.

“I’m home?”

And then Adrian was sweeping him off his feet – literally – and Flint was ruffling his hair and those Carrow twins that had a guilty pleasure in muggle literature were beaming at him. A group of First Years he’d taken a liking to swarmed him with hugs as Theo, Blaise and Pansy dogpiled on him; Pansy clambering up him like a tree and Blaise whacking him over the head with a book and telling him how much of an idiot he was and to never scare them like that again. Warrington slung an arm around his shoulder and Boyle wrapped an arm around his waist before he was hoisted up onto Bletchley’s shoulders, the whole House cheering and clapping.

The Invisibility Cloak hummed around his shoulders, a triangular symbol flaring into sight before winking out again.

 _Family_.

Harry grinned so much his face hurt before a few hours, he and the other Second Year boys managed to escape up the stairs.

He had a trial to get to tomorrow and if he was going to free his godfather, he was going to have to look to like one tough bitch. And he needed his beauty sleep.

There never was any rest for the wicked.

**\---**

“Why’re you singing ‘No Rest for the Wicked’?”

Harry paused his – _very_ beautiful, mind you – singing and looked over at Blaise who was leaning against the door.

“It sounds worse than mother’s, and that’s saying something, mate.”

Harry slid his robes on, reminding himself to thank Mr Tatting of Twilfitt and Tattings for the Egyptian silk. Going before the entire Wizengamot was nerve wracking, but Harry just had to imagine Sirius as a free man and his resolve was steeled. He’d pulled out his fanciest – and dustiest – robes for the occasion instead of his leather jacket – a huge sacrifice. Making an impression would be crucial, and Harry was starting to reach the age when playing the innocent kid card wouldn’t work anymore. Intimidation and confidence would be his best weapons. He knew Sirius was innocent and that was all that mattered. His godfather was going to accept the Veritaserum and that combined with an alive Pettigrew and Harry’s testimony should be more than enough to convince the old codgers on the Wizengamot that they’d imprisoned an innocent _Lord_ of an Ancient and Noble House. His godfather would spend a month in St. Mungo’s for a psych evaluation and then he’d be free to take guardianship of Harry and they’d live like the happy family they were always meant to be. Perfect.

Harry turned to face Blaise and pulled a face. “I don’t give a shit. My singing’s lovely. Now, how do I look?”

Blaise made a twirling motion with his finger and Harry obediently turned. His robes flared behind him as Blaise whistled appreciatively. “I don’t know about intimidation, mate, but you’re going to have all those old birds _drooling_ over you.”

Harry winked back and slid his Rowan wand into his thigh holster and his Ebony wand into his arm holster. No wands were allowed in the Wizengamot but the Blacks – paranoid bats that they were – would never dream of leaving their wands behind in a possibly hostile environment. Thanks to a nifty charm, the detector wards wouldn’t pick up his smuggled wand and he’d have a weapon to defend himself if need be.

Lucius and Draco were coming with him. Lucius because he held the seat for the Malfoy House and Draco because as an heir, was entitled to oversee Wizengamot business at any time. Theo was coming as well with his grandfather and Harry imagined many others would too just to see the ‘trial of the decade’ – as boldly named by Rita Skeeter. No reporters were allowed in the courtroom, but Harry would bet his balls that someone would have a peculiar blue beetle stuck in their hair.

He and Blaise made their way down to the common room and Harry was pleasantly surprised to see Adrian waiting for them as well as a _very_ sharp looking Draco…

“Adrian! What’re you doing here?”

“British Youth Representative, Potter,” He grinned, holding Harry at arm’s length and examining his choice of outfit. “Mhm. Perfect. You’ll have Fudge shitting himself in fear, little brother.”

Harry went still, something warm bursting like a thousand suns from his chest. _Brother_ …

 _Family_.

He smiled back, something gentle and _way_ too sappy for the great Harry Potter.

“Of course, _big brother_. He’ll be wishing _he_ were the one imprisoned in Azkaban.”

Adrian clasped him on the shoulder, his grin widening so much, it probably hurt. “ _Good_. Now let’s get going. Uncle Sev said we could use his Floo.”

“’Uncle Sev’?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Ah,” he had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “Mikah Travers heard little Malfoy call him that and it’s kind of, erm… stuck.”

Harry rolled his eyes fondly, holding out an arm for Draco and using every drop of willpower he owned to keep himself from smiling dopily as warm hand slipped into the crook of his elbow. The nervous energy Harry had kept stored up boiled over and he skipped down to Snape’s office singing a jaunty ‘We’re off to see the Wizard’ and pretending he didn’t hear Adrian’s wheezing laughter or Draco’s confused yelps.

Snape opened his office and peered out, sighing tiredly when he saw them.

“Potter. What are you doing with my godson?”

Harry paused, frowning lightly. “Er- Dancing, sir?”

Snape stared at him. “I’ve seen Lucius’ peacocks dance better. Get lessons from Narcissa.” He paused, his sharp eyes lingering on Draco’s hand on Harry’s arm. “Come on then, irritating brats. I haven’t got all day.”

Harry was nearly vibrating with energy as he stepped up to Floo, taking a pinch and stepping into the flames. He took a deep breath, grimacing at the soot and ashes, and called out as clearly as he could, “ _Ministry of Magic_!”

The flames swirled around him as he tucked his elbows in and watched countless grates speed past. He twisted and spun, holding out against the nausea that roiled rebelliously in his gut. And then in a whirl, it was all over and he was stepping out of the fire and into the Ministry’s atrium, mindlessly vanishing the soot from his robes.

Wizards and witches hurried past, some wearing the scarlet robes of an auror, others the plum of the Wizengamot. The blue robes of the hooded Unspeakables didn’t dawdle, hurrying over to the lift and seemingly oblivious to the wide berth they were being given. The scattered green robes of a Healer were dotted here and there but the most alluring thing about the Ministry was the _magic_ in the place.

It spiralled in brilliant blues that reminded Harry of the sky during summer, warm and welcoming and surprisingly, neither light nor dark, but purely neutral. Chunks of rich emerald connected the dome like a bowl that had been broken and glued back together. It was shiny and deep, like a serpent’s coils. Blinding orange and sunshine yellow shielded the huge statue of magical brethren like a cloak and Harry felt the dull sensation of displeasure. Magical Creatures would never look so adorningly at a wizard. House-elves were too obedient to show affection – unless they were called Dobby, but then again, Dobby always was an odd one – and Centaurs despised wizards with a passion. It was sickening to look at and Harry vowed that one day he would come back and blast that statue to smithereens, replacing it with something worthwhile. Overhead, origami cranes and aeroplanes fluttered, some changing directions and diving at unsuspecting employees, other lazily floating. Interdepartmental memos if Harry remembered correctly.

The floo flared behind him, just as Draco tripped into Harry’s arms.

He helped him up, acting as if his hands didn’t linger too long around his waist ( _ignorance is bliss, after all_ ) and stepping aside just as Adrian tumbled out.

“Bloody Floo,” He mumbled with a scowl, vanishing the ashes on his plum robes. “Fucking death trap, that is.”

They slid into the security line, all of them pulling out their wands. Harry inwardly smirked when he thought of the wand tucked into the holster on his thigh. Buch of cocky twats, the Ministry security team were.

A woman in front of them picked up her wand from the man checking – Harry’s magic curled around the shaft. Apple and Unicorn hair, Ten Inches, how curious – and then Adrian stepped forward, holding out his for inspection. The man grunted, putting the wand on the scales and reading out the properties in boredom.

“Vine and Phoenix feather, Thirteen and a half inches? Been in use for about seven years?”

_[Vine wands are among the less common types, and their owners are nearly always those witches or wizards who seek a greater purpose, who have a vision beyond the ordinary and who frequently astound those who think they know them best._ _]_

Adrian hummed his agreement and took it back.

Draco stepped up next, placing his wand on the scales delicately.

“Hawthorne and Dragon Heartstring, Twelve inches? Been in use just about two years?”

Draco nodded, taking it back and tucking it back into his pocket gently.

Harry got his checked – “Rowan and Thestral Tail hair, Thirteen Inches? Been in use two years?” – and just as he picked up his wand and thought he was in the clear, the man looked up and caught sight of his face.

“Hang on… aren’t you…?”

Harry smile went wooden.

 _Fucks sake_.

Just when he was about to run for it, a flash went off in the corner of his eye. He turned immediately, his face smoothing over into polite aloofness just as Rita Skeeter sashayed over. (Yes, _sashayed_. Wriggling hips and all.) Her poisonous green quill was floating behind her over a notebook. Harry had to resist the urge to incinerate it.

“Ah, Mr Potter!” Rita greeted with a coy smile, “Would you mind giving me a few words? Only a-“

“I’m afraid I have somewhere to be, Ms. Skeeter. Perhaps we can schedule an interview?”

Rita’s eyes gleamed greedily, “Oh, of course, of course! See you later, Mr Potter!”

Good _god_ , was she being _flirtatious_?

_Shameless._

He was physically _twelve_.

Still, press was press and Harry didn’t need an article running exposing any secrets he still had.

_(That’s right, Rita. You’re not the only Animagus around here.)_

He smiled charmingly at her and checked the time, cursing as he realised he had five minutes to get to Courtroom 10. Rita scurried off, taking with her the fat little photographer for the _Daily Prophet_. Harry’s robes – a deep black with red stitching (for the House of Potter) and silver buttons (for the House of Black). Flaring runes were carefully etched into the hems (inspired by Severus Snape) giving that dramatic effect the Potions Master used to scare the firsties into submission – swept out behind him, his messy hair looking carefully chaotic instead of its perpetual birds nest. He strode past the journalists and reporters and continued to the lifts, eyes never straying from the path ahead. An auror with the light blue robes – trainee – stepped into the lift after them and she gawped for a whole thirty seconds before she looked away blushing.

Draco pushed the only button that didn’t have a number as Adrian checked himself out in the mirror and conjured a silver ‘W’ pin to go on his standard Wizengamot purple robes.

“Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office,” a cool female voice said.

Harry got a glimpse of a bright corridor with buzzing snitches and vibrating quaffles before they were plummeting down again.

“Level six, Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Center.”

Ten witches and wizards wearing deep burgundy robes stepped in, one of them with straining arms, holding a huge cauldron of glittering dust – Floo Powder. One witch, holding a handful of broomsticks, rapped out a beat on the side of the lift just as a few lilac aeroplanes fluttered in and the grills slid shut.

“Level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats.”

When the doors opened, two of the memos zoomed out with a few more witches and wizards, but several more memos zoomed in, so that the light from the lamp in the ceiling flickered and flashed as they darted around it.

“Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau.”

A wizard that had stepped in earlier walked out, a smoking bundle in his arms. Harry rather liked the Ministry and all it’s curious workers. Of course, if it weren’t for the paperwork, Harry would take a job just to see all the interesting happenings day in day out. Maybe he would review his plans and become an auror instead.

“Level three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.”

Actually, he wondered if erasing people’s memories was a better career choice. That would be rather cool. But then the _paperwork_ -

Everybody left the lift on this floor except Harry, Adrian and Draco. The remaining memos continued to soar around the lamp as the lift juddered upward again, and then the doors opened and the voice said, “Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.”

Level Two, Harry remembered. The Potter and Black families held seats on the Wizengamot, so when Harry turned fifteen, he was allowed to register and announce a proxy until he turned seventeen and was allowed to make the decisions in person. Hermione was already starting to pour over all the law books they had at the library and more than once Pansy had batted her eyelashes at him and subtly (not really) told him she wanted a super rare (and super expensive) book on Wizengamot history for Christmas. Apparently, as the only heir to the Parkinson line, she was due to take her family’s seat. Her father wished for her to learn every law by heart to prove that although she was female – “Men are pigs,” Pansy said firmly – she could still be intelligent and know the loopholes of the Charter.

“Department of Mysteries,” was all the female voice said and then the three of them were stepping out.

Harry turned away from the mysterious – just as its name suggests – door – _brains-clocks-veil-death- **Sirius!**_ – and towards the foreboding looking courtroom that he’d had his hearing for underage magic in his Fifth Year. He took a breath, hearing Draco do the same beside him, and pushed the door open.

What first caught his attention were the five rows all filled with witches and wizards in purple robes. The he saw an imperious looking Fudge and Amelia Bones, and finally, it was the noise.

 _Everyone_ seemed to be talking. Chattering and whispering and speaking in hushed mutters. It was like a swarm of flies buzzing in one ear and flying out the other. Adrian, just a step behind him, winced, before he shook his head like a dog and hurried them both up into the middle stand where Lucius was sat.

Lucius smiled at them both, more relieved than anything when he saw Harry alive and well. He gestured to the two seats next to him and clapped his son on the back. Tiberius Nott – Theo’s grandad, his father was in Azkaban – winked at them both before settling down and pretending to be serious. Adrian waved, dashing off to find his seat on the front row.

It wasn’t until five minutes later that Fudge banged the gravel three times and cleared his throat importantly. Harry didn’t realise his hand was trembling until Draco held it in his warm one. His heart just about jumped out of his chest. Harry smiled as Draco’s cheeks pinkened but kept his eyes ahead. It was the trial of his _godfather_ , for Merlin’s sake. He couldn’t be getting distracted by such a trivial thing as a his (pathetic) _crush._

(Still, Harry’s own blush didn’t leave until hours later.)

Fudge, face as grim as it _could_ be, banged the gravel again, and called out, “Now that the Wizengamot is assembled, bring the prisoner in!”

Fuck Harry’s heart: his whole _ribcage_ just about burst from his chest.

The door opened and two aurors hauled someone in, nasty sneers on their faces. The air tore from Harry’s lungs when he saw his godfather.

He was thin and gaunt and undeniably malnourished. Dirt and grime clung to him like a second skin and the ratted Azkaban robes were torn, but under all the layers, it was Sirius Black, his dad’s best friend and his fucking _godfather_. Harry’s whole body shook from the force of not lunging for him there and then, smothering him in a hug. The last time he’d seen him was when-

[“ _Come on, you can do better than that!” he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room. The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest. The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock_ ]

-he fell through the veil. Fourteen fucking years it’d been and the first time Harry saw him was in front of the Wizengamot for a bloody trial that should’ve happened eleven years prior.

The aurors – he’d learn their faces so he could teach them a lesson in the future – tossed Sirius harshly into the chair, the chains sprang to life as soon as he sat down, binding Sirius’ hands and feet. Harry ground his teeth together and clenched his hand that wasn’t holding Draco’s into a fist. One day, when Fudge was booted out of office on his arse, Harry would murder him for letting his father’s best friend rot in Azkaban. He’d tie a leash around a dementor – and wasn’t that a thought, having a pet dementor – and leave it in a room with Fudge and see how he liked it.

“Very well,” said Fudge. “The accused being present, let us begin. Are you ready?” he called down the row.

A woman Harry knew quite well answered readily, “Yes, sir.”

Gemma Fawley looked up from her quill and notebook, caught his eye, and winked. Harry smiled back in surprise.

“Criminal trial of the fifteenth of November,” began the Minister in a voice that echoed around the cavernous room, “Into offences committed under the Decree for the Evident Eviction of National Security and the International Statue of Secrecy by Sirius Orion Black, previous resident at number seven Oswald Street, Filton, London.

“Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Jackson Noah White, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know Umbridge wasn’t Senior Undersecretary yet. He assumed she’d be in the same position. She’d either sabotage her way to the top or the current Undersecretary would resign. How interesting.

“Court Scribe, Gemma Serilda Fawley; Witness to the defence…”

Fudge paused, looking incredulously down at the sheet of parchment in front of him.

“…Harry James Potter.”

The members of the Wizengamot muttered all eyes straying towards Harry. Sirius’ shot up like he’d been electrocuted, wide grey eyes – _darker than Draco’s, so much darker, but still my godfather_ – searching his as a wide, insane smile cracked his face. Harry flashed him a grin before his face smoothed into a cool mask of disinterest.

“Yes,” said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. “Well, then. So. The charges. Yes.”

He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read aloud, “The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, _willingly_ and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, perform a blasting curse in a street full of muggles and one other wizard, instantly killing thirteen muggles and said wizard, registering as an offence under paragraph C, section D, of the Martial Law still in place at the time and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy, 1879.

“You are Sirius Orion Black, previous resident at number seven Oswald Street, Filton, London?” Fudge asked, peering threateningly at Sirius over his stand.

Harry wanted to hex him. So badly.

“Yes,” Sirius said, voice harsh and raspy from disuse.

“Do you deny using a blasting hex in a street full of muggles?”

“Yes,” Sirius repeated.

Fudge paused, condescending. “You do understand the question? Did you use a blasting hex in a street full of non-magicals?”

“No.”

There was a shift in the witches and wizards in the plum robes.

“Did you give the Secret of Lily and James Potter’s location to the Dark Lord, He-who-must-not-be-named?”

Harry scoffed derisively under his breath. What a pansy. Couldn’t even say his name.

A sob tore from Sirius’ throat at the mention but nonetheless, he managed to get out a “No!”

“Do you deny the intent to murder Peter Pettigrew?”

At that, Sirius went mad, his lips curling into a snarl, his eyes flashing with bloodlust.

“I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him for what he did for L-Lily and J-James!”

A shift.

Amelia Bones leaned forward; eyes fixed on Sirius.

“What did Peter Pettigrew do to the Potters?”

“He sold them out! He sold them out to Voldemort!”

A gasp rang through the Wizengamot, others leaning forward to the edge of their seats.

“Does the accused consent to the use of Veritaserum?” The undersecretary, Jackson, asked with old but sharp eyes on Sirius.

“Yes.” He said surely, head nodding quickly.

Fudge spluttered, “This is highly unorthodox! Surely we don’t _need_ -“ 

Jackson, white hair and wrinkled skin, looked up at the Minister with a look that clearly said, ‘You want a fight?’

Fudge backed down.

One of the aurors – the big one with the scar on his chin and the poisonous brown eyes that looked _far_ too sadistic – yanked Sirius’ jaw open and roughly dropped three ovals of clear liquid onto his tongue, snapping it shut and reluctantly stepping away when his expression went dull.

Amelia Bones spoke before Fudge could, moving forward so she was clearly in view.

“Name?”

“Sirius Orion Black.”

“Age?”

“32.”

Bones nodded to Fudge. “It’s working.”

The Minister made an odd little _hmph_ , staring reproachfully at Bones before turning back to Sirius.

He asked questions about his family, about the type of magics they preferred; about Bellatrix Lestrange (née Black) and her actions during the war. Angry murmurs were coming from the Wizengamot and Harry’s heart was _pounding_ with anger. Fudge was deliberately asking questions that he knew would make everything tilt in the Ministry’s favour. Harry’s fingers _twitched_ and a _terrible_ idea came to mind.

He slid his hand out of Draco’s and slowly let his basilisk wand slide from his holster and into his grip. Lucius’ eyes flickered downward before they met his and a silent agreement passed between the two. Harry breathed out quietly, wand flicking and he whispered, “ _Imperio_.” 

There were wards against use of the Unforgiveables in the chambers, but Harry’s will, Harry’s tremendous _will_ to save Sirius, forced a gap in the wards until his unseeable spell connected with Fudge. The Minster hardly struggled, collapsing under the force of his desire.

 _Finish your question_ , Harry commanded, and with hardly a stutter, Fudge continued without a hitch.

“-and you grew up surrounded by restricted, illegal artifacts, did you not?”

“I did,” came Sirius’ flat response, still dulled by the truth serum.

_Ask him who was Secret Keeper for the Potters._

Fudge obliged and the whole Wizengamot broke out into gasps at the response.

“Peter Pettigrew.”

_Good, now ask him if he murdered the muggles._

Fudge repeated the question like a puppet.

“No. Peter Pettigrew used a blasting curse on the pipe below the street, cut off his own finger and ran into the sewers in his Animagus form.”

Gemma, the court scribe, was scribbling rapidly now, eyes wide and mouth parted. Harry let his lips curl into a dark smile. Ickle Wormtail would get what was coming to him. Oh yes he would.

“What is Peter Pettigrew’s Animagus form?”

“A rat.”

The Wizengamot burst into loud shouts, outraged intakes of breath’s coming from the witches and wizards.

The truth was out. And it was Harry’s showtime in just a few minutes.

“Administer the antidote,” Fudge commanded, as Harry ordered him too.

He looked down at his stack of parchment, banging the gravel and bringing the court to order as he cleared his throat and asked, “Would the Witness to the Defence liked to add anything?”

The chambers were suddenly silent. Slipping his wand into his sleeve but not lifting the Imperius, Harry stood, his hands steady and his voice coldly strong. 

“I would.”

He made his way down to the stands, lips turning upwards just slightly when he saw Sirius watching him with wide eyes.

 _I’ll make sure you’re free. I’ll save you, just as you died to save me_.

Harry placed both his hands on the stand, his back straight and tall, his eyes the eldritch green that had people shivering and looking away as if Death himself was on their doorsteps. He was the clear picture of intimidation and cool control and as he looked up at the stands, he spoke.

“The case of Sirius Black isn’t straight forward; it isn’t clear cut and it isn’t obvious who’s the guilty party and who’s the victim. You all have a vague idea what happened that day elven years ago, but you don’t have the full story, and that makes all the difference.

“Albus Dumbledore put the Potters under the Fidelius Charm because of the threat Lord Voldemort posed to their lives and in doing so, they gave the secret to their location to a trusted friend of theirs. It was well known that James Potter and Sirius Black were inseparable in their school days and so it was obvious who the Secret Keeper would be. _Too_ obvious. James suggested using Sirius as a decoy and instead placed their continued existence in Peter Pettigrew’s hands. But the major flaw in that plan was that Pettigrew had already been a Death Eater for more than a year. Pettigrew is a follower, that much is clear. He sides with the biggest bully in the playground in rather twisted acts of self-preservation. Voldemort was gaining followers and the opposition was crumbling quickly when Pettigrew was given an invitation to save himself and between betraying his closest friends or continuing to live, he chose to save himself and leave his friends stranded. Becoming Secret Keeper meant Pettigrew was valuable, and as such, he gave the information to his Lord as soon as he could so he could gain favour. We all know what happens next; Voldemort dies, I win and suddenly a baby’s being heralded a hero.

“Sirius Black was sorted into Gryffindor for a reason and learning that Pettigrew had betrayed their closest friends made the thirst for revenge triumph over any rational behaviour. He hunted Pettigrew to a muggle town and confronted him in a street full of witnesses. Pettigrew blew up the street, cut off his own finger, and escaped through the sewers in his Animagus form. The Ministry got to the scene and saw one man standing in the middle of a wreckage, so they came to the seemingly obvious conclusion that he were to blame.”

 _Drive it home, Harry. Let them see_.

“Sirius is Lord of his house and as such, imprisoning him without the chance to defend himself was an act of war against the Black family.”

Pale, horrified faces were glued on Harry and even without Legilimency, he knew what they were thinking.

“A Lord was incarcerated without a trial, Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot. Who’s to say the next to be shut away won’t be you?”

And with that, Harry dipped his head to Fudge, flashed a grin at Sirius who looked proud and happy and a little awestruck at the same time.

Silence reigned in the Chamber, pasty and alarmed faces stared back at him from the five rows before Harry let the _Imperio_ on Fudge go with one final instruction.

 _You will not realise anything’s wrong. Your memories would only be a bit blurry and that’s from stress_.

The Imperius weakened and broke hold, Fudge twitched, his eyes dazed for only a moment before he shook his head and feebly banged the gravel.

“All that find Sirius Black guilty?”

Not a single hand went up.

“All that find Sirius Black innocent of all crimes?”

Every single hand went up, faces regaining colours and noise beginning to start up again.

Fudge banged the gravel again and to Harry, it was like everything was time had slowed. He saw the Minister open his mouth, saw the words fall from his tongue – _innocent of all charges_ – and he was shoving past everyone and the chains were falling away from Sirius and-

And then Harry was on him, arms around his neck and head buried in his shoulder, hardly able to believe his ears, and then Sirius was hugging his back, trembling all over but he was _there_. Sirius Black hadn’t fallen through the veil; he was there, a free man, an _innocent_ man and they could finally be the family they were always meant to be.

They pulled back; Sirius’ eyes were bright and Harry was sure he looked like an utter idiot smiling so widely, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in that moment. Not silly crushes or weird dreams or stupid diaries. Just Sirius Black and Harry Potter, a family again.

 _Family_.

Family was the Malfoys and there warm smiles and fierce protection. Family was the rest of Slytherin house with their affectionate gestures and sweet laughter. Family was Pansy rolling her eyes fondly, Theo loudly bragging about the time he made McGonagall blush, Blaise’s quiet amusement as he looked at them all over the top of a book, Hermione’s uncontainable smiles when she realised that she had people who cared about her _, a second family._ Family was Lily and James with a drunk stag and an exasperated mother. Family was Jormy the basilisk that still missed ‘Master Salazar’ but loved just talking to Harry about anyone and anything. Family was Hedwig and her sharp amber eyes and snowy wings that loved to whack him around the head.

Family came in many shapes and forms, but true family wasn’t perfect.

Just like he and Sirius.

Chatter picked up around him as the chamber cleared, leaving only Harry, Sirius and the two Malfoys. Draco was beaming at him, a wide smile that Harry stored away in his mind for the moment he needed a Patronus.

He turned back to Sirius.

“Hello, Padfoot. Long time no see.”

And Sirius laughed, his voice still hoarse, but it was an honest sound, a true sound.

“Hullo, godson. You’ve grown.”

Harry grinned, eyes big and brilliantly bright.

 _Family_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I read the comments on the last chapter and I know a lot of you didn't expect that. To be honest, I didn't plan for it. Harry will meet his older self/Death again in this book. The whole thing is about Harry becoming more knowledgeable and magically powerful so he's able to defeat Voldemort again. Honestly, killing a Dark Lord with a single Disarming Charm? Bullshit. This chapter is hella long (for me anyway) and I don't know if I'll go back to writing 5,000 words per chapter or up it to 6,000. Who knows. Anyway, the Duelling Club's up next with a little bit of Sirius & Harry bonding, ordered with a wolfstar reunion. I'd love to hear your ideas for Harry/Draco's first kiss (which won't be in this book because bro, they're twelve) as I find myself daydreaming of mistletoe and snow more often than not. I feel like there's too many fics with Draco and Harry being each other's firsts and never being with anyone else sooooo... you can tell that they're going to drive everyone insane with jealousy, and if I don't get another insane ideas, a betrothal contract might pop up somewhere. Who fucking knows. By what I'm planning, Harry will ask out Daphne for the bet and Draco will seek comfort with something he probably shouldn't. 
> 
> Get ready for Lockhart being a dick, Harry being oblivious and Snape being a badass mother fucker. 
> 
> See y'all <3


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